


Back in the Nest

by Periazhad



Series: Nest [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anxiety, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dissociation, Hair Pets, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Jason Todd Kills Joker (DCU), Jason Todd is Red Hood, Kidnapping, Most of the time, Suicide Attempt, Tim Drake is Robin, Torture, forced eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periazhad/pseuds/Periazhad
Summary: Bruce thought the Red Hood might be Jason Todd, somehow alive. They were still gathering evidence, trying to figure out how Jason might be alive, why he was the Red Hood, and why he didn’t come home.Unfortunately, Tim doesn’t figure out what’s keeping Jason from coming home until it’s too late.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Series: Nest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199378
Comments: 555
Kudos: 467
Collections: Red Hood vs Red Robin





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I agonized over this, but finally got it Good Enough.
> 
> I wanted to wait until I was 100% done to post it, but I am weak to Ise and Envy. This is basically 90% done and I have a sort-of short follow-up in my head that I'm excited to write.
> 
> Huge thanks to [Valkirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkirin/pseuds/Valkirin) for reading through this and telling me it was not terrible.

Jason doesn’t remember what it’s like to not have the green hissing in his mind. He doesn’t  _ want _ to remember what it’s like without the green; it’s so much easier to give into his rage. 

Talia taught him he can’t have a mind divided, so he’s tucked away every piece of him that objects to the green. If the green won’t go away, and it won’t, Jason will make his peace with it by any means necessary.

With Talia’s support, he goes back to Gotham to do what Bruce can’t. He’s going to make a  _ difference _ in the corruption and pain plaguing the streets of his city. He takes out key gang members, and starts to run the drug trade out of Crime Alley. The drug trade will always exist, but if he controls it he can keep the drugs from being cut with dangerous additives, and he can keep it from being sold to kids.

The green fury makes it easy to execute those who step out of line, or those who think they can oppose him.

He sets his sights on Black Mask, and wages a bloody war through half of Gotham. He avoids contact with Batman, Nightwing, and Robin as much as he can. He’s careful not to leave any evidence they can use to figure out his identity.

Sometimes he watches them when it’s a slow night. He remembers being Robin, wearing the ridiculous bright colors and swinging through the city. He remembers doing good, in a different way, with someone there to catch him. 

There’s no one to catch him, now.

Jason doesn’t understand how Bruce could forget about him, forget about what  _ happened _ to him, so quickly. Bruce got a new Robin, and put him in the same danger. Jason’s been watching and wondering for weeks, the Pit hissing at him. Was Timothy Drake just that much better? Was he worth replacing Jason before Jason’s body was cold in the ground? 

To quiet the green hiss, he makes a plan. He’s going to test Robin, see if he measures up, see if he’s really capable of filling Jason’s shoes. 

The Pit doesn’t let him think about how a fourteen year old boy can’t realistically compete with someone who’s been through the brutal crucible of League training. If Jason stopped, just for a moment, he’d know that he’s better trained than Robin in every way. But the Pit doesn’t let him think, and the parts of him that would speak up are so far down Jason doesn’t even know they’re still there. He can’t see his blind spots; they’re all green.

\---

It’s easy to infiltrate the Tower when he knows the codes. He incapacitates the team, making sure no one is going to interrupt him. He takes out communications, so Tim can’t call for help. Once Jason is alone with Tim, though, he finds an unexpected delight in hurting him. He was supposed to just be testing him, but the green hisses delightedly with every gasp of pain, every whimper, every scream. Jason finds himself lingering, toying with him.

“Why are you doing this?” Tim gasps out, his face white with pain, still trying to be brave. Jason can tell he’s still trying to come up with a plan, that he hasn’t given up, and Jason is looking forward to breaking him down all the way.

“Because I want to,” Jason responds easily, because it’s true. 

Tim is wavering, leaning up against a wall. Jason thinks it might be setting in that no one is coming, that he’s alone, outmatched, with someone who wants nothing more than to see him suffer.

Jason kicks Tim’s legs out from under him, catches his arm on the way down, and casually snaps it. His vision swims with green glee when Tim screams. He shoves Tim the rest of the way down, and straddles his hips. 

“Don’t you know who I am?” he asks.

His breathing labored, Tim shakes his head.

Jason casually says, “I think I’ll do you a favor, Timmy.” 

He relishes the panic when Tim realizes he knows his name. Tim’s gone still, staring up at Jason with wary eyes. Jason unlatches his helmet. “Since I know who you are, I’ll let you know who I am.” 

A look of awed wonder comes over Tim’s face, pain and fear melting away for a moment, and his voice is soft. “Jason?” He reaches up as though to touch Jason’s face. 

Jason idly snaps Tim’s finger, enjoying the strangled sound he makes. “No touching, Timmy, I thought I made that clear earlier.” He pokes one of the stab wounds as a reminder, and relishes the way Tim jerks under him with a soft, pained sound.

Tim's face loses his wonder, expression sliding into something that looks a lot like betrayal. It’s good, but it’s not  _ enough _ .

“Jason, you—” Tim cuts himself off when Jason pulls out a knife, his eyes fixed on the weapon.

Jason smiles at him. “Don't let me get in the way, Timmy. I'd like to hear your thoughts.”

Tim swallows. “Jason, you're  _ alive _ , do—do the others know?” 

Jason is spinning the knife, and Tim's eyes can't seem to look away. 

“Well, if Bruce knows—” 

Jason flips the blade and slams it into Tim's shoulder. Tim gives an aborted scream that’s absolutely delicious. 

“—he hasn’t bothered to come see me. I’ll fix that soon.”

Tim's trying to get his breathing under control, but pain and panic don't make for a great combination. “What about—Dick? Or Babs?”

Jason laughs, and it’s not a nice sound. “Have they been telling you stories, Timmy?” He twists the knife and the high pitched cry of agony is sweet to his ears. “Dick never cared about me. Babs resented me. Bruce  _ replaced  _ me.”

Tears start to slip from Tim’s eyes, and Jason catches one on his glove. He holds it up, the green inside him fascinated. He created this, a physical sign of Tim’s agony, sweeter than any sound. Usually Jason just kills people, but he might need to rethink his policy of quick death. He brings his finger to his mouth, and tastes the tear. 

It’s the best thing he’s ever had.

Tim’s eyes are huge and shocked, and Jason wonders what to do next. He wasn’t planning on torture when he came today, so his supplies are rather limited. He yanks the knife out of Tim’s shoulder, and Tim stiffens.

“Hood, Jason,  _ please, _ you don’t need to do this. You weren’t  _ replaced, _ you were—” He breaks off when Jason rolls off him. 

Tim’s chest heaves as he struggles to regulate his pain and fear, but he stays still. Maybe he’s finally stopped fighting back, or maybe he thinks he has a plan. Jason starts to go through his pockets, and pulls out his lighter and a cigarette.

“Jason.” Tim’s voice is so pained, Jason doesn’t even mind that he keeps talking. “You  _ are  _ missed; they want you back.” 

Jason lights his cigarette, and takes a puff. Tim’s eyes focus on the cigarette as Jason brings it down, close to him. 

“Please, Jason, you don’t need to do this, just— _ stop.” _ His voice breaks as he tries to push himself away. 

It’s difficult with all his injuries. Jason had really enjoyed how Tim’s face went white when his ankle snapped, and his broken arm seems to be the gift that keeps on giving. Tim doesn’t stop trying to get away, no matter how much it must be hurting him, and his whimpers make the green hiss with elation. Jason pulls the cigarette back, takes a puff, and enjoys the desperate, hopeless scene in front of him.

“I really don’t think they do miss me, Timmy. Bruce replaced me easily. I thought maybe it was because you were worth it, but it doesn’t seem that way.” Jason watches Tim painfully drag himself backwards. “No one seems happy I’m back, especially not you.”

Tim looks at him incredulously and says, “You’re  _ torturing _ me.” He closes his eyes for a moment, swallows, and says, “ _ Please,  _ Jason, come home. Let’s call Bruce together, and you can see. You can come  _ home.” _ There’s naked desperation on his face, but no real hope.

Jason looks at him in disbelief, wondering for a moment if this is Tim’s way of trying to get help or if he genuinely thinks Bruce is going to want Jason back. He’d heard Tim was smart, but apparently he’s naive as well. Jason never had the luxury of being this naive. 

Jason prowls over to where Tim has dragged himself into a corner, “Timmy, Timmy, Timmy. No one wants me back, I’m sure of it. Especially you, wearing my costume.” 

And then Tim opens his mouth and says, “Alfred does.” 

The green floods Jason’s mind, because he  _ can’t _ think about Alfred, who’s never done anything wrong, who taught Jason to cook _ , _ who was always there for him. Alfred is  _ not _ an option, and the green won’t let it be an option.

So the green surges, and Jason makes sure Tim can’t do anything besides beg and scream.

\---

Tim comes back to consciousness slowly, with a sense of urgency. There’s something he needs to do, something he needs to tell someone, but he can’t quite remember. The fog clears for a moment and he says, “Jason’s alive!” before he even knows who is with him.

A hand strokes through his hair, and Dick’s voice says, “We know, Tim, it’s okay. You can rest.”

They know. The urgency leaves him and he slips back down.

\---

The next time he wakes up, he’s surprised to see Bruce slumped in a chair next to him, asleep. He would have expected Bruce had better things to do, like looking for Jason.

Feeling a little floaty, Tim remembers enough to be grateful he doesn’t feel most of the pain. He shoves the Tower experience deep down, because it happened and now it’s over. He’s going to heal but  _ Jason is alive.  _ Bruce is going to have doubts and questions, but Tim  _ knows _ it was Jason. He also knows the bright green eyes are going to be a problem.

Bruce stirs in the chair next to him, sitting quickly upright when he sees Tim is awake. “Tim! How are you feeling?” The obvious care and concern are unexpected, and a little unsettling. Tim wonders when he’ll be going back to his own house.

“I’m fine.” He has to be fine.

It hurts to talk, though, and his voice is hoarse. Bruce holds a glass with a straw and Tim carefully sips the cool liquid. 

“Bruce, it was  _ Jason.” _

“We know.”

“Where is he? Did you find him?”  _ Is he here? _

Bruce is silent for a long, long moment. “Tim, that wasn’t really Jason.”

“Didn’t you get a sample of his DNA?” Jason didn’t bleed much, but he probably left at least one of his cigarette butts behind. Tim suppresses a shudder at the memory of what Jason did with those cigarettes.

“It’s not about the DNA, Tim.” That’s not an answer, but Bruce isn’t known for his answers. “Jason wouldn’t have attacked you. He wouldn’t kill. He wouldn’t have come to Gotham and—”  _ And not come home. _

“But—” Tim looks at Bruce, the deep circles under his eyes, and closes his mouth.

While Bruce goes over Tim’s injuries and expected recovery times, Tim plots how to get access to the Lazarus Pit files. Bruce very carefully doesn’t mention Jason again, and Tim doesn’t either. He’s going to need time, and a clear head, to make his case.

\----

Tim starts with Dick. Dick has been checking on Tim regularly, staying overnight at the Manor often enough he has to be missing work. It won’t all be for Tim; Dick must be worrying about and looking for Jason. Jason is Dick’s little brother, and Tim  _ knows _ Dick will want to bring him home. 

No one will let him out of bed, so he waits for Dick to come to him. When Dick curls around him, Tim casually asks how trying to reconcile with Jason is going. Dick actually flinches, pressing tighter to Tim for a moment. He glances at Tim’s casts and bandages, and then looks away. 

“Hood isn’t Jason.”

“Bruce ran the DNA...” Tim trails off as Dick shakes his head.

“It’s not  _ Jason. _ It has to be something else wearing Jason’s body, using his memories somehow. Or something about resurrection, the Pit, changed him, but it’s not  _ Jason. _ You never knew him, Tim, but he’d never…” Dick looks at him, and all Tim can see are shadows. “He’d never hurt a kid. It’s not Jason.”

“Dick, his eyes were  _ green. _ It  _ has _ to be the Lazarus Pit. Look at Ra’s.” Dick has a lot more experience than he does with the League. “The Pit influences you, but we can  _ help _ him overcome it. Jason’s your  _ brother.” _

“My brother died.” Dick’s tone is so flat, Tim knows to drop the subject. 

He can’t hunt Dick down to push his point if Dick leaves, and, if he leaves, Tim will be all alone again. He can bring up Jason another time. 

\---

He tries to bring Jason and the Lazarus Pit up with Alfred, but Alfred just looks at him with concern and says, “You’re still healing, Master Timothy. I do hope you’ll let Bruce and Dick sort this one out.”

“But Alfred, they don’t really think it’s Jason!” Why does no one  _ believe _ him?

“Wel, they have a lot more experience.” Alfred sounds a little doubtful as he checks a line of stitching. Tim tries not to flinch away. “And it seems this Lazarus Pit fundamentally changes you. Perhaps it is not the Master Jason we knew.”

“But it is! He’s different, but—but  _ everyone _ changes, and he  _ died, _ Alfred. That would change anyone.”

Alfred just shakes his head while looking worried. Tim decides that means Alfred’s on his side, but doesn’t want to openly encourage him to be reckless.

\---

Alfred and Bruce insist Tim stay full-time at the Manor while he’s healing. It’s unnecessary, but neither one of them were willing to budge. With Alfred taking care of all of his needs, Tim has too much time to think.

He didn’t mean to ruin everything by taking Robin, and Jason’s cruelty was a bit shocking, but he saw the green eyes and knows what they mean. Bruce and Dick don’t care if it is the Lazarus Pit; they’ve convinced themselves this isn’t really their Jason.

Lazarus Pit side effects are not well studied, and Bruce locked Tim out of the main file. Insanity, rage, and fixation seem reasonable based on Ra’s. Treatment isn’t really something Ra’s focuses on, but Tim is slowly putting together ideas.

He is going to bring Jason home, where he belongs.

Tim doesn’t let himself think about where he’ll be when Jason comes home and takes up Robin again. This is a  _ dream come true,  _ and Bruce and Dick are being difficult. 

\---

Bruce wishes Tim would stop trying to go back to his house. There’s no one there; no one even knows when his parents are supposed to come back. Why does he want to go back to an empty house so badly?

The Drakes have obviously neglected Tim, but removing Tim from their care would cause Tim  _ more _ distress, and their infrequent visits don’t seem to cause Tim any substantial harm. Bruce just wishes Tim would realize that he, Dick, and Alfred  _ want _ Tim to stay. They  _ want _ to take care of him and keep him safe.

Even from himself. Tim’s belief that Hood is Jason is understandable, but his desire to bring home a man who tortured him is alarming.

In quiet moments, Bruce wonders if Hood really is Jason. DNA and the green eyes paint a picture he doesn’t want to see, but Bruce just can’t quite believe that Jason would  _ do  _ the things Hood does, even with the Pit riding him. Jason wouldn’t attack and torture a child, he  _ wouldn’t. _ Bruce can’t live in a world where the son he raised would do that, so Hood can’t be Jason.

He tries to make himself believe it can be that simple.

The idea that Tim believes it’s Jason, enough to want to bring him home, scares Bruce. Hood has shown no such attachment, and if Tim tries to go out and contact him in some misguided attempt, he might not get left alive the next time. Bruce would prefer to apprehend Hood before Tim is healed.

At least Dick agrees with Bruce that there is no way this is Jason; one less thing to worry about.

Bruce’s worrying is interrupted when the Arkham alarm goes off on his phone. Joker is missing.

When Joker is missing from Arkham, nothing else matters. Robin is at home, still healing. Nightwing is thankfully in Bludhaven for the night. Joker was last seen in Crime Alley, so that’s where Bruce is headed.

He doesn’t expect to find Red Hood on a roof, waiting for him. Despite what he’d said to Tim, Bruce feels a small thrill of hope. What if, somehow, this could be Jason? Despite the brutality, the murders, the torture, what if it  _ is _ Jason? He ruthlessly shuts down the hope. It’s not safe to believe in miracles in Gotham.

Hood attacks him and the fight is brutal, but short, ending when Hood breaks away in the warehouse. Bruce stays back as Hood removes his helmet, the domino mask still shielding his eyes.

“Did you need more DNA to test, or do you believe it’s me?” Certainly that’s Jason’s voice, but it’s the voice of a man, not the boy he buried.

“I got DNA off your cigarette butts.” Bruce wants to say,  _ how are you alive? Where have you  _ _ been _ _? Why didn’t you come home? I miss you. _

His throat is too tight. He harshly reminds himself the Pit fundamentally warps people, and this isn’t really Jason. Jason would have come home, Pit or no Pit. Jason wouldn’t have tortured a child.

Hood demands to know why Bruce hasn’t protected the world from Joker’s depravities. Bruce tries to reason with Jason, but it’s clear Hood isn’t even  _ hearing  _ what Bruce is saying. He’s hearing someone else’s words; something else is driving him.

When Hood reveals Joker, and throws him a gun, Bruce  _ knows _ this isn’t Jason. Jason couldn’t, Jason wouldn’t— 

“Hood, it’s not that simple. Once I start killing, I won’t be able to stop. If I could have—you know I would have done it.” 

Bruce’s heart aches, to think of the little boy he buried ever doubting his love. Another reason this can’t be Jason. Jason  _ knew _ he was loved and valued, he had to have known. Bruce needs to stop pretending this is his son.

The Joker’s eerie laugh echoes, even muffled with a gag.

“You would do it for anyone else; for Nightwing, or maybe your newest Robin. I notice he’s not out tonight; how  _ is _ the recovery going?”

Bruce’s blood runs cold. Hood’s voice is bright with malice, and Bruce’s voice goes darker in response.

“Leave Robin out of this.”

“I’ve got more plans for him, once he’s back out on the streets.”

Bruce closes, determined to get Hood into custody, but loses him in the explosion. Joker, at least, goes back in Arkham and Bruce can breathe more easily.

\--- 

Back at the Cave, Tim is waiting, demanding to know the whole story, gathering data for his pointless crusade. 

“Well, why didn’t you just kill the Joker?” He sounds annoyed at Bruce.

“You know we don’t kill, Tim.” Bruce wearily strips out of his costume.

“But it’s  _ Jason,  _ and Joker  _ murdered _ him, surely you could have made an exception. Maybe Jason would have come home.” Tim sounds so very young, and Bruce slides right back into worrying.

He puts a hand on Tim’s unbandaged shoulder, and crouches down to look right at Tim.

“Once an exception is made, it’s easier the second time. Soon, you can’t stop. That’s not what we do here in Gotham, Tim; that’s not who we  _ are.” _ He pauses, reminding himself that Hood is  _ not _ Jason.

“Jason knew that, even if he didn’t like it. We don’t understand the Pit fully, but I don’t think we can think of Red Hood as Jason Todd. They are _ not _ the same person.” 

Bruce can see in Tim’s face that he disagrees, and Bruce expected that. Tim clings to hope; that’s part of why he’s a good Robin. It will take time for him to accept the painful reality, but there’s something more important.

“He mentioned you tonight, Tim, and said he was looking forward to seeing you again.” With his hand on Tim’s shoulder, it’s impossible to miss Tim’s flinch. “Tim, you must  _ not _ go out on patrol, even when you heal, until we’ve captured Hood. He’s not stable, and he’s fixated on you. You’re a great vigilante, but you’re no match for Hood.” 

Tim nods, subdued, and Bruce feels relief. Dick or Jason would have argued, would have fought, would have railed against the injustice, and then spent all their time sneaking out. He’s grateful, for once, that Tim listens so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, you idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the shortest of the chapters.

Tim is mapping Hood’s patrol patterns, debating trying to cultivate contacts in the League of Assassins to get some better answers, when Hood catches up to him. Technically speaking, Tim is not supposed to be on a solo patrol. Or patrol at all. He just needed some more data to fix this whole mess. Running into Hood wasn’t part of the plan.

“Robin, I thought it would be harder to find you. You’re looking well.” 

A chill runs down his spine at the sound of that mechanized voice, and his stomach drops as he realizes he’s an idiot for walking right into Hood’s hands. He hadn't really considered Hood still being interested in him, despite Bruce’s warning, and he suddenly wonders why he didn't see the flaw in flaunting a stolen costume in Hood’s territory.

He’s searching for an exit strategy as Hood stalks towards him, cursing his idiocy in not bringing a comm or a tracker or even a damn panic button. Tim knows how a fight between them will end and starts backing up.

“Hood, fancy seeing you here.” His response is mindless, hollow, his entire being is screaming at him to run, but he can't just turn his back to Hood.

There are no good grapple points near him, no buildings to jump to, no way to scale down without exposing himself. Tim doesn’t have a way off the roof. He’s trapped.

His heart starts to race and his breathing picks up. For the first time, he really  _ remembers _ what happened in the Tower. 

He wasn't really surprised the Tower was attacked or breached, but he’d carefully forgotten the slowly growing terror as each of his teammates went down. Metas, more powerful than he, and Hood took them down easily. He’d forgotten the panic when he couldn’t raise anyone on the comms, and the choking dread as Hood came for him last.

He can’t stop remembering the way Jason  _ enjoyed  _ it, relished it, drew it out. Tim vividly remembers that after his eyes flared to a brighter green, the pain didn't end. 

He feels very much like a rabbit, knowing the wolf is near but unable to escape, frozen in fear.

“You know, Hood,” Tim says, aiming for casual and coming out desperate. “I talked to B and N about you.” Hood doesn’t slow down. “We know what your green eyes mean. We know you’ve been in a Lazarus Pit.”

“Is that so?” Hood is still approaching him.

“You can come home, Hood.” That is the plan, after all, and it would be easier if Jason would just accept it. “Come home, come back.” Tim swallows. “Come be Robin again.”

Hood starts to circle him, and Tim forces himself to move so Hood is never at his back, the growing fear making it harder to breathe. 

“Really, Robin? You’d just hand over the costume like it’s nothing?” The mechanized voice gives away nothing.

“Well,” Tim says, heart in his throat, “It seems like it was never really mine.” Fine tremors are spreading all over his body, and he’s desperately wishing for Batman or Nightwing to suddenly show up.

“That’s true,” Hood agrees, taking a step forward. Tim takes a step backward and realizes he’s been herded to the edge of the roof. 

Hood is bigger, stronger, faster, and better trained. Tim distantly remembers that one of his theories was Jason got training from the League after the Pit, and Tim is certainly not a match for anyone from the League. 

When Jason lunges over the remaining distance, Tim doesn’t have a chance. It’s easy for Jason to disarm him and throw him over his shoulders. “Sorry, Timmy, I’ve got plans for you.”

Tim’s blood turns to ice for a moment, and then panic floods him, but he can’t break free. He doesn’t stop trying, and he’s on his feet in a flash when Jason throws him through the window of a safehouse. He runs for the door, but a knife in his calf sends him crashing into a wall. He gets up; he’s been here before, he can’t stop even for a moment, but it’s already too late.

He looks up Jason, shaking, unable to even try to hide his fear, and Jason takes off the helmet and grins down at him. 

Tim shakily asks, “Are you—are you going to kill me?” What he means is,  _ is there any point to being brave? _ He’s fourteen, and he doesn’t want to die tortured to death, but he has to  _ know. _ He makes himself look closely at Jason, so he can try to tell if it’s the truth.

“What would be the fun in that, Timmy?” 

Hearing the glee he’d so carefully forgotten, Tim closes his eyes and tries to pretend he’s somewhere else. He tries to pretend it’s not  _ Jason _ who is going to hurt him. Again.

He didn’t realize it then, but now he thinks lost his bravery in the Tower, lost any dignity he might have had while facing torture. He didn’t think he’d be crying before they even started again, but he is. He tries to tell himself it’s the pain of the knife in his calf, but both he and Jason know that’s not true.

\---

Jason is overjoyed. He was worried it wouldn’t be the same a second time, but it might be better. The terror and resignation are intoxicating.

Tim is shaking, he’s crying, and Jason hasn’t even  _ done _ anything to him. Yet. It’s only going to get better from here, and the green is thrumming in anticipation.

He stays away from permanent injuries. While it is wonderful to see the panic on Tim’s face when Jason holds a knife right next to his eye, he doesn’t think it will be the same once he goes through with it. Maybe the next time.

Jason drinks in Tim’s terrified expression while openly considering how many fingers Robin needs to fire a grapnel. Or when he wonders how hard it would be to go back to being Robin, if Jason shattered his kneecaps.

“What if I just deafen you, Timmy? No one would know, just by looking at you.”

“Jason, no— _ please,  _ don’t! Just—please,  _ stop. _ ” Tears are streaming down his face, and the pain hasn’t even started. 

Jason thinks he could listen to him beg all day. 

When Jason presses the knife just a little harder next to his eye, Tim’s voice wavers as he says, “Jason, you—you don’t want to do this, n—not really.” 

Jason laughs, but when he says, “Probably not today, Timmy,” Tim is actually  _ relieved _ .

Jason is heady from the power he has over him; the green running hot in his veins. Tim’s  _ gratitude  _ that Jason isn’t permanently injuring him, his sheer  _ relief? _ Jason doesn’t think anything will ever feel as sweet. He’s glad he’s been preparing for this.

\---

Tim doesn’t really think Jason is going to put out his eye, or cut off a finger, but he doesn’t  _ know.  _ He hears Dick’s voice saying  _ He’d never hurt a kid...it’s not Jason,  _ but Tim still won’t believe this isn’t Jason. He reminds himself it’s just the Pit. The reassurance rings a little hollow, now, with terror overwhelming him.

“I was expecting you, you know.“ Jason’s tone is almost conversational as he moves around the room. 

He bound Tim’s hands behind his back and left him on the couch. Tim could get up, try to run, but he can’t make himself move. Jason is already going to hurt him. He’s terrified to make it worse. What if he provokes Jason, and that’s when Jason decides to kill or maim him? It’s best to just let—let Jason get through the Pit madness, wait for the glowing eyes to fade, and bring him back to the family after all this. It’s—it’s not going to be that bad.

“In anticipation of your visit, I bolted the coffee table to the floor.” 

Tim should be—asking questions, or—or trying to escape, or trying to stay calm—

Jason brings over a piece of wood similar to a staff, but with straps. He uses some of the straps to attach it to the reinforced table. Breathing too fast, dread spreading through him, Tim can’t look away.

“Put your feet up, Timmy, take a load off.”

Tim hesitates. Jason narrows his eyes and says, “ _ Now.” _

Tim puts his feet up, terrified to obey, more terrified to disobey. He can’t make it worse. “Please, Jason. I—I don’t know what you want,  _ please, _ stop. I’ll give you back Robin.”

He will, too. Robin belongs to Jason. It was stupid to go out wearing it. He just needs to get through to Jason, to remind Jason that he’s not the Pit.

Jason doesn’t even seem to hear his pleading. He carefully slides off one of Tim’s boots, and then the other. Tim presses back into the couch, hating that he’s so terrified of something he doesn’t even understand, tears spilling down his cheeks. 

“Jason.” His voice is quiet, pleading, shaking. “What do—what do you  _ want? _ Why are you  _ doing _ this? P—please,  _ stop, _ let me go. Come home; d—don’t  _ do _ this.  _ Please.” _

Jason uses his knife to slit the reinforced tights covering his legs and feet, and then straps Tim’s feet onto the staff.

Tim’s stomach is churning with dread, and he  _ still  _ doesn’t know what’s happening.

“Do you know the term falaka, Timmy?” Tim shakes his head. “It’s a Middle Eastern term, although the root is Greek.” Jason picks up a coiled piece of leather Tim hadn’t noticed before. 

Trembling from anticipation, he wants to plead for Jason to stop, but the words die as he watches Jason uncoil the leather. 

“It hurts, but it doesn’t usually cause severe injury.” It’s a whip of some kind. Jason is holding a  _ whip.  _ Tim’s eyes are fixed on the leather. He can’t even hear Jason anymore. There’s a crack, and, almost faster than Tim’s eyes can follow, Jason strikes the soles of Tim’s feet.

For a moment, Tim thinks nothing happened and then white agony flares through his entire body. He jerks, but his feet are secured to the reinforced table, his arms behind his back, he can’t  _ go _ anywhere. He’s completely vulnerable.

Surely, he’s flayed down the bone; the only way he’d feel such agony. He looks, breathless with pain, shivering, but his feet look untouched. He stares, horrified that there’s no sign of the pain, and Jason strikes him again.

Somehow it’s worse than the first hit, and he goes rigid with the agony. Desperate, hopeless, knowing it won’t make a difference but in too much pain to stop himself, he opens his mouth to beg. As he does so, Jason strikes him again and Tim screams instead.

Once he starts screaming, he can’t stop. He thinks he could, if Jason would stop for a  _ moment,  _ but there’s no break. 

Tim thought he understood pain, but the rising agony of this is not like anything he’s ever felt. He writhes, screaming, but there’s nowhere to go.

He thinks he must black out, because he comes back to himself with a hand cupping his cheek. He presses into the hand gently cupping his face, dimly wondering why he can’t move more than that. 

A voice says, “Can you drink?” He doesn’t know if he can, the echoes of agony still in his body, his feet still throbbing. When a glass touches his lips, he finds he can drink. The voice is gentle, soft. “Are you back with me?” 

Tim knows that voice, even though it’s somehow different. He’s heard it at parties, but it feels more important than that.  _ Robin.  _ Relief washes through him. Robin won’t leave him here.

“Robin, please,” he starts to say, shocked at his raw throat. He has to make sure Robin knows, that he’s not left here. “Robin, please save me, he’s  _ hurting _ me.”

“Oh, Timmy,” the voice says. “I would, but you took that from me. I’m not Robin anymore. You’ve done this to yourself.”

At that, Tim opens his eyes and remembers where he is. Jason is sitting next to him on the couch, still touching his cheek. Tim jerks away in horror, staring at him, but there’s nowhere to go. Jason smiles down at him and says, “Are you back now?”

\---

Wide-eyed, terrified, Tim is just staring at him. Jason thought he liked Tim fighting back, being brave, but the green enjoys just how broken he is now.

His replacement is starting to shake now, probably shock setting in. Jason reaches out a hand and Tim stops breathing. He gently cups Tim’s face again, and Tim’s eyes shutter closed. 

“P—please, Jason.” Tim’s voice is so rough; it must be hurting him to talk. “I—I don’t know what you w—want.” His shivering intensifies and a few more tears slip down his face. “J—just please let me go, you’ve—you’ve hurt me enough. I—I won’t go b—back out as Robin, I can—I can stay away from Bruce and Dick, they’re  _ your _ f—family. Anything y—you want. Please, just—just,  _ anything _ you want.”

Hand still resting softly on Tim’s face, Jason doesn’t respond for a moment. Then he leans in and whispers, ““This  _ is _ what I want, Timmy,” and Tim flinches. 

Jason moves away, and unties Tim’s feet from the table. Tim couldn't run away, couldn’t put weight on his feet even if he wanted to try. Jason doesn’t think he’s going to try. In addition to securing the coffee table, he installed a reinforced hook on the ceiling. He slides a cable through the ring and leaves it hanging there.

Tim isn’t begging anymore, just softly crying. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. Jason goes back to him and leans him forward, uncuffing his hands. He’s trembling, crying, and the green is  _ singing. _ Jason will never try drugs, but if this is anything like the high addicts get, he doesn’t even blame them for chasing it. He recuffs Tim’s hands in front of him.

“Do you think you can stand for me? Oh, wait, no—” Jason smiles maliciously.

He takes one end of the cable and secures it around the cuffs. He threads the other end through part of the reinforced table and pulls. Tim’s arms slowly rise above his head. When Jason keeps pulling, his eyes open in panic.

“J—Jason,” he hiccups, still crying. “I—I can’t stand, d—don’t make me,  _ please, _ I’ll do w—whatever you want, just—” 

Jason is still pulling slowly, steadily. Tim is staying limp, begging, and Jason  _ yanks.  _ The sudden pull drags Tim up, off-balance, and he automatically scrambles to get his feet under him.

Delighted, grinning, vision tinged with green, Jason watches him scream and collapse. 

“What do you  _ want _ from me?” Tim whispers, defeated. “ _ Please, _ tell me what you want.” 

Jason pulls him higher. Tim could stand, if he wanted to to endure the pain. Eventually, the agony of standing might seem better than the pain of hanging by his shoulders.

“Timmy, I’m getting what I want.” Tim doesn’t seem to understand that.

When Jason cracks the whip again, Tim’s entire body flinches. Green rises up with the first strike on Tim’s back. Jason whips him until his uniform, _ Jason’s  _ uniform, is in shreds. He doesn’t stop when Tim bleeds or when his voice gives out. When Tim passes out, the green coils up, satisfied. Jason leaves him on a rooftop for the Bats to find.

\---

Tim doesn’t think the torture was an aberration, this time. He wakes up slowly, in the medbay on his stomach. He turns his head; Bruce and Dick are at his side, dark circles under their eyes. He can’t feel anything, and he’s grateful. 

Dick notices he’s awake first and says, “Hey baby bird, don’t move.” His voice is soft and guilty.

“Hey,” Tim tries to say back. His throat feels like fire, though, and the hoarse sound isn’t recognizable as words. Dick’s face falls and he leans forward to pop an ice chip in Tim’s mouth.

Bruce’s face is unreadable. Tim already knows he’ll be blaming himself, even though it’s Tim’s fault for going out by himself. He lays out Tim’s injuries for him, like last time, and Tim is surprised to find himself grateful for no broken bones this time.

His plan to bring Jason home is as ruined as his back. He remembers what Jason was like as Robin, and thinks Dick and Bruce might be right. 

Hood’s eyes are always a vivid green when the helmet comes off, and the vicious glee in his voice is unlike anything Tim has ever heard before. Whoever this is, it isn’t Jason, because Jason wouldn’t—but he can’t even make himself remember.

He shudders, but reminds himself Bruce and Dick are here. He’s  _ safe. _

Jason was his hero, his Robin. Tim loved seeing him fly, loved reading the articles about him, and watching the video clips. 

He won’t think of Hood as Jason anymore. This was Red Hood, and Red Hood is dangerous. Until he’s caught, Tim knows Bruce and Dick won’t let him go out as Robin. He floats in the fuzziness of pain medication, Dick’s hand drifting through his hair, knowing he won’t fight them. He doesn’t want to go back out as Robin, ever. And he never wants to be near Red Hood again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Envy wouldn't let me fuss over it before I posted it, so it's her fault.

A fever set in shortly after he woke up, and Tim lost two weeks. He's relieved to not remember any pain from those two weeks; what's left is bad enough.

He is still stuck on his stomach when Dick flops in a chair next to him and says, “It’s movie time!” 

Tim can see the shadows all over Dick, marks of the long weeks of worry since Hood had first attacked Tim. Tim made it worse, he knew, by going out himself. He doesn’t want to watch a movie, doesn’t want to do anything except wallow in guilt. But he doesn’t like being alone, and he won’t deny Dick this simple pleasure, not when Tim has hurt him so badly.

“Sure, Dick, a movie.” Tim knows he’ll fall asleep before it is done, but Dick still lights up at the agreement. Dick can be easy to please.

Tim isn’t sure how to make up for his stupidity with Bruce and Alfred. Alfred checks on Tim regularly, changing bandages and bringing restoratives tea. The only sign of his stress is the overabundance of Tim’s favorite foods; Tim couldn’t have eaten this much even if he were fully healed.

Once, Tim tries to apologize. “Alfred,” he says quietly. “I’m really sorry.”

“Whatever for, dear boy?”

“For—for going out alone, for letting myself get—taken.” He can’t say tortured; he can’t even say Hood’s name.

Alfred smoothes back Tim’s hair. “Master Timothy, no one blames you for what was done to you. It was not your fault.”

“But, Alfred, I went out, against orders, and even though I got what I deserved, now everyone is worried, and has to take care of me and—” Shame and guilt swirl through him, reminding him how useless he is, how he’s such a _burden._

“Master Timothy, even if you deserved a punishment for breaking a rule put into place for your safety, physical assault would _never_ have been appropriate.” Alfred sits on the side of his bed, looking at him kindly. “Yes, we were all quite worried about you, but worrying is merely what a family does. And a family of vigilantes, even more so.”

“He’s right,” Bruce agrees, walking into the room. “This was the fault of Red Hood and no one else.”

“But Bruce, you _told_ me to stay in and I didn’t listen. I was so _stupid.”_ Tears are slipping down his face.

Bruce sits on the bed, across from Alfred, and takes his hand. “Tim, sweetheart, we wanted you to stay home to be safe. I’m the adult; I should have known you’d still go back out. You want to bring home Jason so badly—”

“Wanted.” Tim interjected. He _wanted_ that. Not anymore; that’s _not_ Jason.

“You wanted to bring home Jason so badly, it was quite obvious you were going to try by any means necessary. You are still a child, under my care. The fault is my own.”

Bruce is looking at him so gently that Tim feels even worse. This _isn’t_ Bruce’s fault, and he’s _not_ Bruce’s responsibility. Tim was stupid, and thought he could _help,_ and did this to himself, but now everyone has to take care of him, and he can’t—he doesn’t know how to fix this. 

In a quiet voice he says, “I’m tired.” He’s always tired, and he’s sick of it, but it makes a convenient excuse.

“Then certainly, Master Timothy, you should sleep and heal.” 

Tim pointedly closes his eyes as Alfred leaves, but Bruce stays. Bruce or Dick are always staying with him, making him feel safe. He sleeps better when someone is there, and they’ve all noticed. He doesn’t scream himself awake as often.

Tim wants to tell Bruce to go, to tell him Tim isn’t worth this, but he _is_ tired and knowing Bruce is here makes Tim feel so safe. He doesn’t deserve the comfort that Bruce is offering, but he can’t make himself send Bruce away.

\---

Jason knows the third time is going to be harder, but he wonders if Tim will actually think he’s _safe_ if Jason waits long enough. The hardest part of waiting is staying out the way of Nightwing and Batman; they are particularly angry and focused on hunting down Jason. He stirs up some gang violence, and lets a couple B-listers out of Arkham to keep them busy.

He spies on Tim in the Manor; they don’t seem to realize he can get on the grounds and watch them. It’s a long road to recovery for Tim, and it comes just in time.

Janet and Jack come home and Tim has to go play the dutiful son. It’s easy to hack into their emails and find their departure date. Watching how they interact, or rather _don’t_ interact with their son, he knows they won’t miss Tim the morning they leave. When he sees they’ve bumped up their departure, he breaks into Drake Manor the night before and takes Tim.

He’s cautious, knowing Bruce and Dick would have loaded him up with trackers. In the end, Talia’s training ensures he gets them all.

When Tim wakes up and realizes he’s with Jason, Jason can _see_ him mentally check out. He just goes away somewhere else, and the green hisses until Jason brings out a gun. The click of the safety going off brings Tim painfully aware, and Jason is pleasant when he says, “I don’t plan to kill you yet, but I think you’d better pay attention.” 

Those wounded eyes looking up at him is everything Jason ever wanted. He is _never_ going to give this up.

The green loves the power, the control, and so to start he orders Tim pick up the knife and hurt himself. Tim, naturally, objects.

“Timmy, Timmy, anyone would think you want to die. It’s not a hard thing. We both know you’re gotten worse on patrol. Hell,” Jason says, grinning at the memory. “I’ve done worse to you.” His voice suddenly hardens. “So pick up the knife and cut yourself.” 

With shaking hands, Tim _does_ pick up the knife. Jason is practically high again from the rush.

“Do you think your parents missed you when you weren’t there to say goodbye?” There’s an almost imperceptible flinch and the green surges in his head. “I checked, they still got on their plane.” Tim is holding a knife covered in his own blood, but this makes him glance away. 

“Bruce and Dick probably don’t even realize that you’re missing.” That’s definitely a lie, judging by all the trackers Jason removed. “They’re not really keeping tabs on you, now that you’re not useful as Robin.” 

Tim’s been managing the pain, but he goes white at Jason’s words.

Jason hums. “You know it’s true; I can see it. That’s why you’re here with me. That’s why they’re not rescuing you. That’s why they’ve _never_ rescued you. You’re a liability. They’re not going to miss you when I’m done with you.”

Tim looks up at that, silent tears streaking his face. “A–are you done? With me? Are you–are you killing me this time?” 

Jason shrugs, casually holding the gun. The Pit is singing in his head. “I haven’t decided.” Tim looks away again. 

The green hisses for more than _words._ Jason wonders if Tim would put his own eye out rather than die. “I have something I’d like to test today, Timmy. Grab a knife, no, get a clean one for this. You’ve gotten that one so dirty.”

\----

Tim is trying as hard as he can not to think. The pain, both physical and emotional, is a dull ache that just won’t go away. He has to listen to Hood, so he can follow the instructions. It hurts, but it’s going to hurt no matter what, and he isn’t ready to die.

He can’t avoid the sting of the truth; his parents _didn’t_ miss him, and Bruce and Dick _don’t_ need him. Why would they? There are better things, more _important_ things, for all of them to do. Maybe pleasing Hood is all he’s good for, anymore.

No, he knows better. Dick and Bruce spent so much time helping him heal, staying with him to help him sleep, and holding him after nightmares. They’ve done far more than the bare minimum; they _do_ care about him. They must.

It’s just hard to remember, here with Hood, wishing someone would save him.

He doesn’t plan to leave Wayne Manor, ever, after this. Even if Red Hood is in custody, Tim knows any form of Gotham incarceration is a joke. And he can’t do this, not again, not _ever,_ so he just needs to get through this and he can spend his life safely in the Manor. It’s big enough and his parents probably won’t care. Bruce can work it out with them. Maybe Tim will get a dog, or some fish.

All of his daydreams leave in a rush of panic when Hood orders him to hold a knife next to his eye. His _eye._ He hadn’t really thought Hood would permanently hurt him; that seemed to break the rules of whatever sick game he’s playing. Tim freezes, looking at Hood. Hood sprawls in the chair across from him, toying with the gun. 

“Oh, you’d rather be done now?” Hood points the gun right at Tim.

And Tim just—stops for a moment. Maybe he _is_ done. Maybe this is far as he can go. But some buried part of him rises up and says _it’s just an eye_ and reminds him that Hood probably isn’t going to kill him, and Tim is going to get through this and end up safe at the Manor. Alfred will bake him cookies, Dick will watch movies with him, and Bruce will watch over him while he sleeps. He’ll be safe. He just—he just has to survive, and not think about anything. 

He swallows and picks up a knife, a clean one as ordered. Holding the point next to his eye, he drifts away. Until Hood actually orders him to do it, he just won’t think about it.

\---

Jason doesn’t like that Tim keeps drifting away, even while hurting himself. The _green_ doesn’t like it. Tim is here, with Jason, and needs to _be_ here.

Grabbing a taser, Jason shocks him again, and again. Tim’s agonized yelling puts a green haze over Jason’s vision, but the green suddenly isn’t satisfied hurting Tim anymore. Tim’s given up; he’s not _fun._

Now the green hisses for Jason to hurt _Bruce;_ this is all his fault. Neither Tim nor Jason would be here, if it weren’t for Bruce.

For the first time, he brings Tim to a rooftop still conscious. Tim isn’t even that damaged, yet. Throwing Tim down, he casually points a gun at him. 

“Timmy, we both know I’m faster than you, so don’t make me kill you.” 

Tim just closes his eyes, going somewhere else, _again._ Jason pulls out a burner phone and puts it on speaker. At the sound of the ring, Tim opens his eyes in surprise.

When Bruce picks up, Tim finds his voice, “Bruce!” he yells. His voice isn’t even hoarse, and the green writhes in displeasure. Jason will fix that.

“Tim?” Bruce’s voice is panicked.

Before Bruce can say anything else, Jason says, “I’ll leave the phone on so you can track him, but you’d better hurry, B. I think I can slit his throat without killing him, but he’s probably going to need immediate medical attention.”

Bruce is shouting through the phone, Tim is actually trying to push himself away, _finally_ , but Jason just leans down and slashes. He hopes he hasn’t killed Tim. They’ve got at least one more date before he is done with him, but the sound of him gasping, almost gurgling, while Bruce is shouting is worth the risk.

\---

Tim hates the scar on his throat. He’s getting good at ignoring the ones on his back and the rest of his body, but something about the scar on his neck, seeing it every time he passes a mirror, is unsettling. He mentions it to Alfred and the next day there are turtlenecks in his wardrobe, along with an assortment of scarves. Tim doesn’t think he’ll wear the scarves, but he does wear the turtlenecks.

It’s awkward, in the Manor. The weight of what has been done to him hangs over everyone and everything. When he and Dick watch a movie, Tim feels as though Dick is watching him closely, pressing up too tightly. At meals Alfred is a touch too solicitous. Bruce checks on him every night, but there’s a solemnity to him that gets under Tim’s skin.

Tim wants to scream at them all that he’s alive, he’s survived, and they’re dragging him back down. Of course, he can’t do that.

He pretends that he doesn’t notice how they all watch him, worried. He pretends he’s healing, getting better, and doing fine. He isn’t going to worry them.

As soon as he could talk easily, he told Bruce he was not leaving the Manor again. Bruce told him to take as much time as he needed.

“No, Bruce, not _ever_ . I’m not going back to school, I’m _definitely_ not going back to my parents’ house, I’m not _leaving._ Even if you put Red Hood in Blackgate or Arkham, he’ll get out and—” his throat had closed off and Bruce had pulled him into a hug.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured as he stroked Tim’s back, Tim’s breath hitching as he tried not to sob. “You can stay here.” That was all he needed to hear. Tim knew Bruce would take care of it.

\---

While Bruce always hoped Tim would finally tell him to formally take custody, this wasn’t how he imagined it. He wasn’t even sure if Tim really knew what he had asked for. But Tim was home, and safe, and Bruce isn’t going to turn him down. If he ends up changing his mind, well, Bruce will deal with it then. He knows Dick will help keep Tim from changing his mind.

Dick disappeared a few days after Tim’s fever broke, after his second encounter with Hood, only to reappear with his car packed full of stuff, announcing, “I’m moving back home.” 

Despite the confidence in his voice, he stopped on the doorstep, waiting to see what Bruce would say. There’s a big difference between visiting occasionally and fully moving back home. 

Bruce looks at Dick, seeing him spending hours at Tim’s bedside, waiting for the fever to break, desperate not to lose another brother. Between Bruce, Alfred, and Dick, Tim was never alone. Bruce thinks about Hood, still out in Gotham, still a threat to Tim, and the maddeningly small progress he’s made trying to apprehend him. Nightwing would be invaluable as a full-time assistant.

He doesn’t need reasons, though. This is always Dick’s home, whenever he wants it. “Welcome home, chum. You want me to carry some of those boxes?” 

Tim hasn’t seemed to notice Dick doesn’t go back to Bludhaven anymore, to the job he doesn’t have or the apartment that isn’t his anymore. Dick and Bruce deliberately don’t mention it, an unspoken understanding that Tim would blame himself. Dick is just quietly always available when Tim needs someone to curl up with him, watch a movie, or distract him. Dick and Bruce often end up meeting in the hallway late at night, checking to remind themselves that Tim is there, safe and well.

When Tim went home to the Drakes, Dick was unbearable. Bruce isn’t sure he was much better; both of them checking and rechecking the trackers, texting or calling Tim. Neither one of them will ever forgive himself for not considering Hood might find _all_ the trackers and for not setting a physical watch on Tim’s house.

Now, one of them always heads back early from patrol to be there if Tim screams himself awake from nightmares. It’s not really an if, anymore, since it happens every night. Bruce was hoping it would fade away, but it’s not, and he’s planning out the best way to suggest therapy.

Hood eludes them, night after night. Alfred makes them both take a night off, once a week, arguing that burning themselves out won’t keep Tim safe. Hood is just too good at stirring up problems that take a more immediate priority than hunting him down. Bruce is seriously considering getting the League involved if this drags on much longer.

\---

Tim never leaves the Manor. Jason had toyed with pulling him from school, or getting him at the Tower again, but Tim never leaves.

That’s not really a problem for Jason, perching outside Tim’s window, watching him sleep, with his helmet waiting for him back at the motorcycle. Jason hadn’t wanted to reveal his Manor knowledge this early, but it can’t be helped. He needs to have time with Tim again, needs to quiet the green voices, needs to _hurt_ him, and see his pain. 

Slipping into Tim’s room, he pulls the gun and nudges him. “Timmy,” he says in a sing-song, “Time to wake up.”

Tim bolts upright, gasping for air. When he sees Jason in his room a strange look comes over his face.

“Come on, Timmy, time to go, I’ve got a special plan for us tonight.” Jason is vibrating from anticipation. The Bats won’t have anyone to rescue when he’s done.

Tim just sits there, looking at him; no, looking _through_ him.

Jason huffs along with the Pit and says, “Timmy, Timmy, Timmy. You know how this goes. Come with me, or it all ends right here.” And that won’t do at _all._

Tim focuses on him then, his eyes suddenly sharp. He purposefully stands up, and Jason raises the gun to track him. As he steps forward, something in his eyes keeps Jason quiet. Tim doesn’t stop until the muzzle is pressed against his forehead.

Voice flat, he says, “End it right here, Hood.”

Jason is shocked, and the Pit howls in his head. This isn’t—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Tim is supposed to fight _back,_ supposed to be afraid, supposed to _scream_ for them.

“Timmy, we haven’t even had any fun yet. You can’t possibly be ready for me to finish this. Let’s think about this.”

Jason feels a little desperate, robbed of his fun, with something darker lurking in the back of his mind. Something the Pit is trying to cover; something he doesn’t want to face.

Tim’s voice is steady as he insists, “Let’s finish this.”

Jason steps back, lowering the gun as panic rises, and hears his voice shake as he says, “I don’t think—” 

Tim steps forward and grabs the gun, pressing his forehead back against the muzzle. “You do it, or I will.” 

Jason jerks the gun free, horrified. The Pit is screaming at him to shoot, to kill Tim right here if that’s what he wants, but Jason—Jason is looking at a fourteen year old who would rather _die_ than come with him. And sure, Jason planned to kill him, but Tim was going to fight and struggle and he wasn’t going to _want_ to die and— 

Feeling sick, the Pit for once not the loudest voice in his head, he darts around Tim and back out the window. Back on his motorcycle, the Pit whispers to him, and he turns for Arkham. There is someone there who deserves pain and death.

\---

Jason beats the Joker until the laughter stops, and puts two in his head for good measure. The Pit swirls higher than ever, flushed and sated on blood, screams, and pain. Jason is euphoric, high, barely aware of what is happening.

It’s earlier than he’d planned to break the Joker out again, but it feels so good he doesn’t care.

When the Pit drains away, Jason waits for it to return. Waits, standing beside the Joker’s cooling body. Waits, deliberately keeping his mind blank. He needs to know what to do next.

The Pit doesn’t return.

Jason waits there for hours, patient. He knows he can’t live in a world without the Pit. It guides him, and shields him from what he’s done, what he’s become. He needs it back. It has to come back.

When he can’t keep his mind blank any longer, he’s back in Tim’s bedroom. Watching Tim demand that Jason kills him, watching an unarmed teenager who would rather _die_ than go with Jason.

Jason tries to wrench his mind away, but then he’s just remembering the glee he felt at torturing Tim, remembering the joy he felt making him scream and beg and cry. He spent so much time preparing to torture a _teenager._ He was planning on _killing_ Tim, whose only crime was trying to save people in Jason’s old costume. How could he have done that? He feels sick.

Looking at the Joker, Jason sees no difference between them and his body goes rigid. _He’s the same as the Joker._

His vision hazes, not green but black, and he smells smoke. The Joker is getting up, despite the bullets in his skull, coming at Jason and swinging the crowbar. Jason can’t move, paralyzed as the bar swings down again and again. Agony shoots through him, and he can feel his bones breaking and blood running. The Joker turns away from Jason, and Tim is suddenly there in his Robin costume. Jason has to protect him, has to save him, but he still can’t move. He opens his mouth to scream, and blood pours out.

\---

Jason slowly comes back into his body, curled up in a ball. Nothing is broken, and there is no blood. His throat is raw, like he’s been screaming for hours. He pushes himself up with shaky hands. Joker’s body is still there, where it first fell, cold and unmoving.

He lurches to his feet, ignoring his stiffness and pain. Somehow, he’s still wearing the helmet and he rips it off, along with all of his weapons and armor.

When he has nothing left to remind him of what he was, he calls in a tip about Joker’s body and vanishes into Crime Alley. Red Hood won’t be seen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all leaving such DELIGHTFUL comments and I'm loving it. Even if you're just incoherent or can only say "fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were SO MANY nice comments, and I made a lot of progress, so my plan of posting every two days got thrown away.

Tim is surprised when Hood flees his room instead of killing him. Surprised, and a little disappointed. There was a chance it could have been all over...but it’s not. And Tim doesn’t really want to die, not without the immediate threat of torture, so he calls Bruce.

“Red Hood was here. I’d like to go to The Watchtower now.” While he is pleased that his voice doesn’t shake, it sounds dead even to his ears. 

Bruce had said if the Manor didn’t feel safe that the Watchtower was always an option. Full of superheroes around the clock, and no way for Red Hood to access. Tim doesn’t really believe that last part, because Hood has just shown he can get  _ anywhere, _ but somewhere with more witnesses, more people to help, feels like a good idea.

Bruce says something soothing that Tim doesn’t really hear. A moment later, Dick bursts into the room, frantic. “Tim! Why didn’t you shout? I was right down the hall!” He was on his one night off a week, courtesy of Alfred’s insistence.

Dick searches the room, like Hood is hiding under the bed or in the closet. Tim sits quietly on the bed, watching him.

“When Bruce pinged me, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. What happened? Why did Hood leave?” Dick is peering out the window, like Hood might still be down there.

Tim feels detached, like what’s happening isn’t really happening to him. He hasn't ever talked about what happens when he’s with Hood, letting Dick and Bruce put together their own pictures from his injuries.

There’s a part of him that knows that Dick will be even more distressed if Tim tells him what happened, but he’s so disconnected he can’t find a lie. And he doesn’t want to be silent; even this detached, he knows he still needs to help. It was such an unexpected reaction from Hood, and it might somehow help them find him. They're all desperate to find Hood.

“I was sleeping and I woke up and he was pointing a gun at me.” 

Dick sucks in a sharp breath and sits down next to him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. The weight and warmth are comforting, reminders of the all the times Dick has held him before, but they’re pulling him back into his body faster than he would like.

“I didn’t want to go with him, and he reminded me that if I didn’t listen to him, I’d get shot.” He pauses, and Dick squeezes his shoulders.

Now that he’s started, it’s easier to keep going. “That’s—that’s what happened last time. He told me he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he said; if I didn’t—didn’t use the knives on myself.” Dick makes a low, wounded noise next to him, but doesn’t say anything. “And I couldn’t go with him, Dick, I just  _ couldn’t. _ And he said to go with him, or—or he’d end it all right here and so,” Tim shrugs, aiming for casual. “I told him to end it all right here, then.” 

Dick goes rigid next to him.

Tim continues, “He didn’t like that, and when I wouldn’t change my mind—” Tim pauses, present enough to fully remember. “It was weird; the green drained out of his eyes, and he looked panicked, actually  _ panicked, _ and then he just fled.”

Dick is slowly relaxing next to him, and he slides off the bed and kneels in front of Tim, looking up at him earnestly. 

His voice is soft and gentle. “Tim, do you want to kill yourself?”

Tim recoils, “No! No, Dick, I don’t want to kill myself.” 

Dick closes his eyes, and a look of such relief washes over his face that Tim feels guilty for worrying him. 

“It was just—I couldn’t go with him.” 

Tim shudders, missing his feeling of disconnectedness. Now the full terror of having Hood, in his bedroom,  _ in the Manor, _ sinks in. He was supposed to be safe here, forever. Hood wasn’t supposed to—he shudders again, and realizes he’s not stopping, he’s just shaking.

Dick gets back on the bed and hugs Tim tightly, whispering that he’s safe now. Dick is here,  _ no one _ is taking Tim away; he’s  _ safe. _ Tim shakes and shakes, clinging, hiding his face, trying to pretend that all this happened to someone else. Dick holds him for as long as he needs.

When Tim calms, he wipes his eyes and says, “I’m going to the Watchtower. I need to pack a bag.” 

Maybe he should stay, help them figure out where the security went wrong, but he can’t stay somewhere he’s not safe. And if Jason can get into the Manor, he can get into the Cave and unless Clark wants to stand next to Tim 24/7, Tim doesn’t want to stay on Earth.

He did wake up the third time with Clark next to him. Bruce and Dick had been regularly checking in with Tim at Drake Manor, just in case something happened. But Jason had stripped away all his trackers, and left them with no way to find him. Instead of fruitlessly scouring videos, or swinging through the streets hoping to hear him scream, Bruce had called in Clark. He was tied up in a series of earthquakes and aftershocks, and Tim could easily imagine Bruce counting down every second until Clark was available.

Tim almost regrets that Jason slit his throat so soon. If he’d kept Tim a bit longer, Superman might have rescued Tim and captured Red Hood. As it was, when Bruce heard Hood slit his throat, Tim was bumped to top priority.

When Tim woke up, Clark was there to apologize for not coming sooner. Tim understood; he was just one person, and he wasn’t really at risk of dying. People in collapsing buildings had to take priority.

Unable to speak yet, Tim had to write down his response, reassuring Clark that it was fine. When Clark read the message, something tight flashed across his face, so quickly that Tim couldn’t figure out what it meant. Tim still isn’t sure what it meant.

Tim and Dick gather what he will need to spend a few nights on the Watchtower. He doesn’t want to be driven out of his second home, and he has decided to trust that Bruce and Dick won’t let him come back until they are sure that it’s safe. Hopefully it won’t take longer than a few days.

\---

On the Watchtower, Tim realizes he didn’t think this through. He’s certainly safer, but he’s much more uncomfortable. He’s the only kid in a building full of super powered adults. The few adults who know what happened to him are so pitying Tim can’t stand them, Clark included.

The others are curious why Batman would send Robin to the Watchtower for an extended period of time, and think they are subtle when they try to pump him for information. Clark eventually chases them away. 

Although he might be safer, he doesn’t  _ feel _ safe. Without Dick and Bruce nearby, the memories threaten to overwhelm him. He hadn’t quite realized how two of them managed to keep him from ever feeling truly alone, and he’d taken their presence for granted when he woke up from nightmares. Now he realizes they must have been coming back early from patrol to be with him, and he’s torn between gratitude and guilt.

Waking up alone, tremors running through him, he can’t stop thinking about how stupid he was to ever think Hood was Jason, and to try to reunite the family on his own. Going back to his parents was an even worse decision; they probably wouldn’t have even  _ noticed _ if he wasn’t there.

But he  _ was  _ stupid, so he can still hear what Hood said, and feel the phantom pains, and he’s just so  _ scared. _ He wishes Bruce or Dick was with him. He tries not to think, tries desperately to disconnect himself again. Doing so might not be healthy, but Tim doesn’t have any better options.

Bruce visits him on his second day. Tim denies having any nightmares, leans up against Bruce, basking in feeling safe and warm and protected. Dick must have told him about Tim trying to get Jason to shoot him, though, because Bruce awkwardly brings up the idea of a therapist. Tim gracefully declines, but Bruce pushes the issue.

“Therapy can be very helpful, Tim, a safe place to talk about what happened to you.” Bruce sounds so earnest, but Tim feels nauseous at the thought of reliving what happened to him, pressing harder against Bruce.

He mutters, “If it’s so great, why don’t you go?”

Bruce calmly says, “I have gone before.” Tim snaps his head up in surprise, and Bruce smiles at him. “After my parents were killed and after—” he pauses. 

Tim quietly finishes. “After Jason died.”

“Yes.” There’s a pause. “I was concerned, at first, that it would be all about talking about what happened.” Tim nods, agreeing. “But it’s not like that, Tim. You don’t need to talk about anything you don’t want to. And you can learn some strategies for managing your feelings and reactions, without having to actually discuss the trauma.” Bruce grins, wryly. “I would know; I refused to talk about what happened in Crime Alley for years. But Alfred dropped me off every week, and so I went.”

Tim stares up at him, trying to picture Alfred driving a grumpy Bruce to therapy.

“But Bruce, you have to be honest in therapy, and, well,” he gestures at the literal outer space outside the window.

“Tim, there are several League-approved therapists.” 

“Really?”

“The kind of job we do, putting ourselves in harms’ way, trying to rescue people and sometimes failing...It leaves a mark. On all of us.” 

Tim hadn’t really thought of it that way. Robin was just fun for him, until it wasn’t. He can’t even look at the costume, a shudder running through him at the thought, and Bruce was forced to agree a domino would be enough of a disguise for Watchtower.

Bruce ends up leaving him with a list of therapists, and a lot to think about.

\----

Jason is shrouding himself in a haze; the only way he can exist. 

There’s blood on his hands. He can’t remember who it’s from, or if it’s even real. 

Jason can’t breathe, gasping for air. When he sleeps, he wakes up screaming.

In his dreams, Jason pulls the trigger. In his dreams, he cuts Tim’s throat and watches him die. When Jason’s awake, he can’t remember what’s real and what’s not.

He needs to see that Tim is alive. Jason needs to know he didn’t kill him, that he never—

Bruce and Dick are redoing the Manor security, but Jason never needed to hack security to sneak in. Tim isn’t there. 

Jason tries to calm the panic. He checks Drake Manor. He checks Gotham Academy. He checks the hospital. He checks the Tower. Terrified, shaking, he checks the morgue and the graveyards. 

He can’t find Tim.

\----

Tim’s sitting on the sofa, looking over the list of therapists and wondering if he’d prefer a man or woman, when the Green Lantern plops down next to him. 

“Lantern,” he greets, a little warily. The League members have been...inquisitive, at best. He thought Clark had dealt with them all.

“How old are you, Robin?” Hal demands. Tim isn’t Robin anymore, but there’s no security risk to sharing his age.

“I’m fourteen.” He feels older.

“Shit,” Hal says, “that’s too young for even an early beer. Unless,” he pauses. “No, Batman would kill me. Well, what’s your beer, kid?”

“What?” Tim blinks at him, some of his numbness fading away in confusion.

“Well, your version of beer. Pizza? Donuts? Soda and wings? Give me something to work with!” 

Tim turns to stare at Hal, who’s grinning at him with shades of worry in his eyes. Tim wonders if someone told him or if he's wearing his trauma on his sleeve.

“Kid, if you were twenty-one we'd be at a strip joint  _ right now, _ drowning your sorrows with boobs and beer. But you're fourteen, so I've gotta improvise. Help me out a bit.”

“Classy,” Tim says but follows up with, “Pizza, definitely pizza. With artichokes and onions.”

“With what now?” Hal looks at him, nonplussed, but Tim remains firm.

“Artichokes and onions.”

“That’s weird, kid. Did Batman teach you that? That’s... that’s not really what you should put on pizza.”

Tim glares at him, surprised to find himself annoyed. He hasn’t  _ felt _ this much since he came to the Watchtower.

Hal sighs, muttering, “Rich people,” under his breath, but caves. “Okay, okay, fine, your beer is weird pizza. But I’m getting meat lovers so you can see what you’re missing. Next, strippers.” 

Tim chokes on air and starts coughing.

“I think I’m a little young—”

Hal interrupts, “Not actual strippers; you're  _ fourteen. _ Have you even hit puberty yet? Your skin is still too clear, am I right? But we need  _ entertainment.”  _ He waves a hand at the TV in front of them. “Movies, video games? Kids like zombies right? Or maybe, what is it, Grand Theft Auto?”

“That's rated M For Mature. I'm not seventeen.”

Hal gives him a look and says, “Considering everything, is that really a hill you want to die on?”

Tim does consider it, and then says, “I want Grand Theft Auto. I think it would be fun to steal a car.” 

Hal places a call.

“Hey, need a favor. Can you run up to the Watchtower with some pizza, artichokes and onions, yes,  _ artichokes and onions. _ And meat lovers, and a copy of Grand Theft Auto.” A pause. “What, no, it’s not for me, it’s for Robin.” Another pause. “I’m sure Batman is fine with it.” 

Hal hangs up and flashes a smile to Tim, “Just wait, I’ve got a great delivery service.” He relaxes into the sofa, looking as if he hasn’t a care in the world.

Tim quickly reviews the options and says, “You called the Flash, didn’t you?”

Hal cocks an eyebrow. “What, you don’t think I’d call Superman?”

Tim looks at him. “We both know Superman wouldn’t bring Grand Theft Auto.” He’s surprised to find himself truly looking forward to pizza and video games.

It’s not long before The Flash zooms in, looking worried. “Ta da, pizza and Grand Theft Auto, from the world’s fastest delivery service!” Barry sets everything down and shoots a narrow-eyed glance at Hal, before turning to Tim. “Robin, just be honest, you know our identities, right?” 

Hal chokes in the background, but Tim just smiles.

“I knew it, Hal, all this secrecy is ridiculous.” Barry throws his hands up in the air, and Tim recalls Bruce complaining that the speedsters were always dramatic. “Batman knows everything!” 

Tim surprises himself by snorting.

Hal looks at Tim as he says, “Come on, kid, really? He told you our identities?”

Tim grabs a slice of pizza and primly says, “He considers it a safety issue, in case you go rogue.”

While Barry splutters, Hal grabs the game and sets it up. Tim doesn’t know if Hal knows or not about Hood, but he’s grateful Hal knew what to do. Food, distraction, and company that isn’t scrutinizing him. Tim feels more human than he has in months, and in that moment decides to try therapy. He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a haze, trying to forget and being afraid he’ll slip up and remember.

Barry doesn’t stick around long, but he does eat an entire pizza and loudly critique the thin plot of the game. Tim and Hal don’t disagree, but they just want to steal cars and cause trouble.

Tim loses track of how long they play, so it’s a surprise to suddenly find Batman there, looming over them. Hal and Tim look up at him, and then look at each other.

Tim says, “You taught me how to steal a car  _ in real life,” _ and Hal coughs to cover a laugh. Tim sends a genuine smile to Hal and says, “Thanks for the beer and strippers, Lantern.”

Hal stammers, “No, Batman, it’s not—it wasn’t—He’s only fourteen!” Batman just stands there, looming, and Hal quickly says, “Well, Robin, this has been fun, maybe another time.”

He vanishes and Tim smiles up at Bruce. “Do you always have to intimidate the League like that?”

“It’s good to keep them in their place,” Bruce says solemnly and Tim actually laughs.

\---

It turned out that Jason had hacked into the Manor and Cave security system, so they kicked him out, increased the encryption, tested it thoroughly, and declared it safe.

Looking several years younger at Tim’s newfound ability to laugh, Bruce said, “And we’ll check it daily for signs of tampering. But Tim, you don’t come home until you want to, until you feel safe.” 

Tim didn’t actually feel safer on the Watchtower, without Bruce and Dick, and he wanted to come home.

“I can bring the game, right?” Bruce muttered  _ Lantern _ under his breath, and Tim snickered a little.

Bruce had sobered suddenly. “There’s one more thing to tell you. Joker’s dead.”

The sentence hung in the air between them.

“He was found in a warehouse, beaten to death with a crowbar.” 

Tim felt a shock run through his body, as if he were the one hit by a crowbar.

“Red Hood’s helmet, armor, and weapons were found at the scene, and no one has seen him since then.”

\---

Tim has a lot on his mind as he scrolls through his phone back on Earth. He’s been feeling more like himself since the afternoon with Hal. If there’s a chance therapy can give him back more of this feeling, or even just keep him feeling this good, Tim is willing to try. He really needs to find a moment to let Bruce know.

There are messages from the Titans, checking in and wondering when he’ll be back. They’ve gotten a very...sanitized version of Gotham events over the past six months, from Bruce and Dick. Tim hadn’t know what to say. Now, he’s finally feeling up to giving them enough of a response to stop their worrying. He can’t tell them when he’ll be back, because he’s not sure he’ll ever put on the Robin costume again. The idea fills him with dread, Hood’s voice echoing in his mind, and phantom pain slicing through him.

It’s much better, feeling safe back in the Manor, and Tim vows not to take Bruce and Dick for granted again. They’ve done so much for him, more than he ever would have expected after he forced his way into their lives. He tries to tell himself they’re so concerned just because they feel sorry for him, but it’s gone way beyond that. He allows a tendril of warmth to take root, and start to spread throughout his body.

Safe and secure, he turns his mind to Red Hood. If he stays analytical, the fear won’t overcome him. Joker dead and Red Hood gone to ground. Not even in hiding, some form of...retirement? Since he left all his stuff behind, and no one’s seen him since. It’s obvious why Hood would kill Joker, but not obvious why he did it right after he tried to kidnap Tim. He’s had access to Joker for months now; he even broke him out for the big showdown with Bruce.

What happened to make him ready to kill Joker now?

Tim keeps seeing the shock on Hood’s face, the green light draining out his eyes. He looked so...human. He looked like Jason.

Until they find Hood, they won’t know more. Still, Tim can’t stop thinking about it, and he decides he needs a distraction. He’s trying to pick a show to binge, considering inviting Dick, when his window shatters as Hood jumps through it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Envy is no longer clamoring for this, because I took pity and gave her access to what I have (she gave us 75 fics in five months, she's earned it), but I think I might actually have it mostly finished this? I just need to start the follow-up, I guess.
> 
> Anyways, I'm posting faster so I stop going back and fussing over it. This is the longest chapter, unless I end up fleshing out chapter 8 dramatically.
> 
> Y'all are leaving the BEST comments, holy shit, thank you
> 
> (please feel free to point out typos and missing words. I genuinely appreciate it)

Jason clings to the sense of relief he feels when he finally sees Tim in the Manor. It is a cool balm, lifting the haze and temporarily washing away the madness. Tim is  _ safe. _

He’d only hacked into the Manor security systems as a decoy. When he lived here, when he had a family, he’d learned how to avoid all the security to get in and out undetected. 

He’s grateful, now, because it means he can watch Tim and know that Tim is alive. It keeps the nightmares away, keeps his reality balanced. He doesn’t know where Tim was, and he doesn’t care. Tim is here now, alive and well. The dreams were just dreams. Jason didn’t kill him.

When he sees a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye, he tenses and refuses to look. He doesn’t want to see what nightmares his brain has dragged back up for him. Tim is alive. Nothing else matters. Nothing else is  _ real. _

But there’s a second flicker, and a third, and eventually he turns to see a glimpse of a black clad figure slipping into the Manor. Jason would know that outfit anywhere: Ra’s ninja. Here. In the Manor. Dick is downstairs, leaving Tim unprotected. Jason knows firsthand what Ra’s and Talia are like, what they would  _ do _ to Tim, and he can’t—can’t let that happen.

His brain wants to slip back into a comforting haze, not willing to face consequences of his actions, but he wrenches himself back. He has to—he has to  _ save Tim, _ and Tim is probably not going to want to go with Jason, because—and that makes  _ sense _ , but he has to _ save Tim,  _ even if Tim thinks—even if _. _

Jason breaks through the window, too worried to take the time to pick the lock, and Tim freezes. A distant look comes over his face as Jason urgently whispers, “We need to _ go,  _ now.” 

Tim looks right through him, not hearing him.

Jason’s stomach swoops. He expected this, he did, but—he still hesitates. He should have—tripped an alarm, or, fuck, called Bruce. Anything but terrorizing Tim again. He could still leave, but—if Bruce and Dick are not in time—and they won’t be in time, not with ninja already in the house. 

He’s not letting a teenage boy get taken by Ra’s ninja. It’s that simple. Steeling himself, not letting himself think about it, he grabs Tim, and it’s like a switch is flipped. Tim starts screaming, high-pitched and terrified, and tries to twist away, kicking and hitting wildly.

The screams make Jason flinch, remembering other screams he has drawn from Tim. He wants to run, to hide, to drown himself in forgetting but he  _ can’t. _ The ninja will be coming even faster, and Tim needs to be  _ quiet _ and just—Jason presses his fingers against Tim’s carotid. Tim thrashes harder, but Jason is more desperate. When Tim is out, they’re gone, through the window.

On his way out, he deliberately sets off perimeter alerts and is seen on camera. He doesn’t want Dick to get surprised by ninja, and he wants Bruce to rush home and help. He wants them to know he has Tim, that Tim isn’t with Ra’s. Jason doesn’t want them to worry.

Well, he knows they’ll worry, because they don’t know Jason isn’t going—isn’t going to—well, they don’t know the Pit has left him. But at least they won’t worry that Tim is with Ra’s. Jason’s more predictable; he’d keep Tim in Gotham, and he’s given Tim back alive every time. Ra’s has no such mercy. What the fuck were the ninja even  _ doing _ in the Manor?

Tim isn’t out long, but when he realizes he’s outside the Manor with Jason he goes utterly limp. Jason tries not to notice his silent tears. He’s  _ saving _ Tim. He wants to tell Tim that, wants to reassure him, but worries Tim will start fighting again. They need to get away, and then—then he can tell Tim he’s going to be safe.

It’s not easy to ride a motorcycle with one person limp, but Jason lashes Tim to him and sends up a brief prayer that Tim doesn’t start flailing and kill them both in a crash. He only has one helmet, and he gives it to Tim.

He parks his bike, and carries Tim up to his safehouse. Tim is still leaking tears, limp and quiet. Jason lays him gently down on the bed, and suddenly Tim breaks. 

“P—please, Hood,  _ please _ don’t d—do this. Please d—don’t hurt me,  _ please.” _ Tim is pleading, terrified, hopeless. The Pit would have loved this.

Jason backs away, shaking, reassuring words drying up in his mouth. 

“You’ve m—made your p—point. I’m n—not safe anywhere, please, just—” Tim locks eyes with Jason, stark despair in them. Jason’s frozen, unable to say or do anything. “Please, H—Hood, don’t draw it out anymore. Just—Just  _ kill _ me,  _ please _ , just kill me and get it over with it. I can’t—I can’t take it anymore.” 

Jason desperately tries to forget the brutal specifics of his abandoned plan to kill Tim. He has backed all the way across the room, eyes wide, horror filling his veins.

“T—Tim.” There’s no indication Tim heard his quiet voice. “Tim, you can—you can just go. You can leave. I’m not—I won’t stop you.” Tim glances between him and the open door. Jason fumbles in his pocket, holding out his phone as he says, “You can call Bruce; it’s going to be fine. I’m not—it’s going to be fine.”

There’s a flash of hope on Tim’s face, before it crumples. “Hood,  _ please _ d—don’t play games, please, j—just finish it. I’d rather die. I can’t—” 

Jason thinks he’s going to be sick. Tim turns away from him, curled on the bed, and starts sobbing. His body is tense; he expects Jason to hurt him at any moment. Jason wishes he could undo the last year, wishes he were someone who could go and comfort him.

When Tim goes suddenly silent, Jason makes himself step forward to check on him. Tim has relaxed, but he’s not asleep. Tears are slipping down his face, but it only takes one look to tell that Tim has dissociated. Jason swallows. He tortured a kid until he’d rather  _ dissociate _ than be in the same room as him, even with Jason offering him freedom.

Jason knows what he has to do, and he’s not looking forward to it. 

He has to call Bruce. 

What he really wants is to slip back down into a haze, burying himself where he doesn’t have to feel. He wants to check out of this painful reality, like Tim has, but Jason  _ can’t. _ He—he did this, and it’s his fault, and he can’t—he has to do the bare minimum now, at least. Tim’s in no condition to be left alone, so Jason has to stay with Tim until someone comes for him.They might already be on the way; Jason didn’t check for trackers this time.

His hands trembling, Jason swallows. Bruce and Dick—Batman and Nightwing, they’re  _ not _ his family, not anymore—have been trying to find him for half a year, and Jason’s about to give them just what they want. He knows what will happen when they get here. Arkham, or Blackgate at least. It’s not like Jason doesn’t deserve it, and worse.

Jason is guilty of so many things, and what he did to Tim was the worst of it. This is—this is the least he can do.

Jason blinks rapidly to clear his suddenly blurry vision, and swallows, trying to relieve his tight throat. Pulling out his latest burner phone, he dials a number he won’t ever forget.

“Who is this?” 

The voice makes Jason flinch, but he has to say something before Bruce hangs up. 

He clears his throat again and says, “Hey, B.”

Batman growls, “ **Where. Is. He** .”

Jason rattles off the address and the line goes dead. He could leave; the calvary is coming. He should leave.

Instead, he slides down the wall, leans his head on his knees, and cries silently, like the boy he once planned to murder.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he hears a soft scrape and scrambles up, wiping his face. His heart is in his throat, his stomach is a painful knot, and he’s trembling all over.

He hasn’t seen them—he hasn’t been close to—they’re not his family, not anymore, but— 

Nightwing stalks into the room, deadly intent in every step. He sees Tim, still on the bed, and then he sees Jason.

Before Jason can do or say anything, Nightwing slams him into the wall. Hard. It would hurt if Jason had been wearing his body armor, and he didn’t even have his motorcycle jacket on. He’d struggled to get that on Tim, too. His breath whooshes out of him and his eyes can’t look away from the whites of the domino. 

“What did you do?” Nightwing demands, practically shouting, alarm and fury warring in his voice. “What did you do to him?” 

Stunned, Jason can’t find his voice. Nightwing slams him against the wall again and Jason makes an involuntary small, pained noise.

“Nightwing.” That deep commanding voice Jason would know anywhere. “Bring Tim to the Batmobile. He appears unharmed.”

Nightwing’s hands tighten painfully for a moment before he drops Jason. Jason wavers on his feet, wishing he could just curl in a ball on the floor and shake until he fell apart and was done. But Batman is approaching him now and Jason can’t even look at him. He deserves whatever is coming. If Batman wants to hurt him before he arrests him, hurt Jason like he hurt Tim, Jason won’t protest.

As Batman stands in front of him, silent and judging, Jason feels a tear slip out and he whispers, “I’m sorry, B.” He doesn’t try to explain that he was rescuing Tim. Nothing makes up for what he’s done.

Batman grabs his shoulder, and Jason doesn’t resist as Batman spins him around and cuffs him. He propels him by the shoulder through the door and down the stairs. Jason wonders if it will be Arkham or Blackgate, but can’t make himself ask. Batman probably wouldn’t tell him anyways.

Expecting to wait outside for a pickup, he stumbles in surprise when Batman leads him to the Batmobile and restrains him in the front seat. It's not comfortable with his hands already behind his back, but Jason knows he doesn't deserve comfort. Looks like he's getting a personal drop off, somewhere. 

He closes his eyes again, and tries not to think. This isn’t his family. He’s getting what he deserves. This isn’t his family. There is no coming back from what he's done. This is Batman, and Nightwing, and Jason is merely a criminal. This is not his family.

In the backseat, he hears Dick fussing over Tim. He’s trying to bring Tim back by soothing him, telling him he's safe, and a piece of Jason aches to hear it for himself. He knows he’s done nothing to deserve comfort; he will never get comfort again. It’s just been so long since anyone was kind or gentle, since he was safe and held, since he could rest peacefully. Despite knowing he doesn’t deserve it anymore, knowing he probably never deserved it, he still aches for it.

He closes his eyes tighter and tries not to listen, tries to go away.

When the car slows, Jason comes back to himself with a start. They're in the Batcave. What are they doing here? He listens as Dick carries Tim to the medical bay and Batman follows. He's back to Jason quickly, with a syringe. Jason feels the sharp pinch, watches the vial fill with blood, but doesn’t react.

Batman undoes the car restraints and pulls him to his feet. Jason looks around; he never thought he'd be here again. Before he can really absorb any of it, Batman guides him over into one of the containment cells, removes his cuffs, and locks the door.

Jason stands there, mute, while Batman goes to the pad outside his door. A moment later, the noise from the cave cuts out and Jason realizes he's activated the soundproofing.

He didn't make the door opaque and Jason is pathetically grateful; he doesn't do well in small, enclosed spaces. They probably want to watch him to make sure he won’t try to escape. He stands there, watching Batman walk away, before he turns around, gets on the bed, and curls up, his back to his door.

He’s going to cry again, and he’s going to pretend he has privacy. He tries not to notice the camera in the corner.

\---

Eventually the Cave dimmed, and Jason assumed they’d all gone. He’d cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, but he still doesn’t move. He has nowhere to go. Someone had slid what Jason assumes is food into his cell, but he hasn’t turned to check. The fear and despair and loathing are overwhelming him, and he’s so painfully  _ lonely. _

Seeing the Cave has made him remember the family the Pit made him forget, remember the joy he’d found here. He can’t make himself think of his former family as merely Batman and Nightwing, not when he’s surrounded by memories in the Cave. But they’ll never be his family again, not after what he’s done.

When he eventually sits up, he notices Bruce is still in the lab, probably running a million tests on his blood. He wonders dully what Bruce will find in his blood. He walks over to the MRE in his cell. Looking at it, nausea rises, and he leaves it on the floor. 

What must they think of him? He knows what Tim thinks, and Dick is clearly the angry, protective older brother Jason always wanted. He’s glad for Tim, and ignores his own hurt. It’s good Tim has someone to look out for him.

But what about Batman, and Bruce? Jason remembers they had a confrontation over the Joker, but finds he can’t recall anything Bruce said. The memory is all green, so green he desperately grasps at it, hoping the Pit will somehow return to him at last. And then he recoils in horror, stumbling backward to fall on the bed like it will help him break free, keep him from hurting others.

He buries his face in his hands, shaking. Jason can’t believe he’s so selfish that he still wants the Pit back, knowing what it will do to the others, to Tim. He tries again to remember what happened with Batman, but this time the green makes him so sick that he forces his mind away.

He lays on the bed again, eyes wide, afraid to close them and see green.

\---

When Tim blinks back into reality, he’s on a bed, Dick curled around him. He starts to tremble. He doesn’t want to know what had happened this time, what he’s missed. He wants to go back to not knowing, not being. 

There are fingers running through his hair, warmth pressing against him, and he hears, “It’s okay, you’re unharmed. Tim, you’re going to be fine, breathe.”

He wants to believe it, he tries to believe it, but Hood came into the Manor  _ twice _ and— 

Dick’s low voice cuts through his panic. “You don’t have to worry anymore, baby bird, we caught him; we caught Hood, you’re  _ safe.” _

Tim’s breath catches in his throat. They arrested Hood? But he can’t be contained. No matter where they put him, he’ll be back, and—the pain and terror will start again and never stop and—

He’s shaking harder and harder, spilling out broken, terrified words, when Dick says, “Shh, Tim, it’s fine. He’s in a cell in the Cave. He’s not going to get out.”

Instant relaxation. Tim is safe. He’s  _ safe. _

A stirring of concern, because Hood is extremely skilled, “Did he—are you—did anyone get hurt?”

Dick laughs a little, gently, and says, “Always worried about us, huh? No, no one got hurt. I think Hood surrendered himself.” His tone is a little bewildered. “Bruce thinks it’s a trick. He thinks Hood was in league with the ninja–”

“With the  _ ninja?”  _ Tim sits up partway in shock, but Dick pulls him back down.

“Yeah, Hood tripped the alarm on his way off the grounds with you, and the Manor was full of ninja.” 

Filled with worry, Tim starts patting Dick down, looking frantically for injuries. 

“Hey, no. Tim, we’re fine.” Dick gently pulls Tim’s hands away, before stroking through his hair again. “They fled as soon as the alarm was triggered. They aren’t even in Gotham anymore. That’s why we figured they were with Jason, a distraction or help for grabbing you.”

Melting under Dick’s hands, Tim manages to ask, “But—Hood didn’t hurt me, and let himself be captured? Why bring in the ninja just for this?”

Dick shrugs. “Bruce is trying to figure that out.” Tim snuggles deeper into Dick’s warmth, nudging him when he stops petting.

It’s wonderful to wake up safe and unharmed. He’d been so sure—Hood was so different, it had to be a trick, it was going to be  _ worse,  _ but—Tim could have just taken his phone and walked out? Since Hood called Bruce when Tim didn’t? It’s hard to believe.

Eventually, he has to  _ know _ Jason is captured, has to see for himself, make sure he’s actually safe, so Dick takes him down and shows him Hood in a cell. Tim is trembling, staying so close to Dick they’re almost tripping over each other, but Hood is locked away. He’s just wearing jeans and t-shirt, no domino, no helmet. And no green in his eyes when he glances at them. But Hood  _ always _ had bright green eyes, always. 

The person in the cell looks like...Jason. Tim’s heart twists when he sees how tired he seems, how resigned he looks. He hears Dick saying  _ I think he surrendered himself  _ and realizes he has to talk to Hood, alone. Maybe the Pit—but one look at Dick lets him know that isn’t going to be possible, not right now.

He lets himself be led back upstairs, and is given a warm drink and meal from a worried Alfred. Tim notes that neither Bruce nor Dick mention Jason imprisoned in the Cave in front of Alfred, and he follows their lead.

He lets Dick check and double check the room. It’s not his room, because his window is still broken. Tim draws the line at letting Dick stay, possibly the first time he’s done that. Normally he’d never pass up a chance to be safe, and he definitely won’t sleep without Bruce or Dick near him, not after the Manor was breached  _ again. _ But he needs to talk to Jason, to get answers, to make sure his idea is  _ right,  _ and he can’t do that if Dick stays with him.

\---

Jason must have fallen asleep, because he’s startled awake when the speaker suddenly crackles. He rolls over to look, noting it’s still dark in the Cave, and sees Tim. Jason freezes.

They stare at each other through his cell door, and Jason is the one to look away first. The speaker crackles again and Tim says, “Why the ninja? Why go through all that trouble, just to—to let me go and surrender yourself?”

_ Is this a trick?  _ Is hanging unspoken in the air between them.

Jason sits up. He can’t refuse Tim anything, and this is an easy answer. “They weren’t—” He stops to clear his throat. “The ninja weren’t with me.” 

Tim takes a moment to absorb that and then tilts his head to the side, quizzical. “But...if they weren’t with you, why take me?”

“To save you. They were  _ Ra’s ninja,” _ he emphasizes, because maybe Tim didn’t know. Jason can see, though, why they’d think someone with Lazarus green eyes might have access to ninja. 

Tim is visibly taken aback by Jason’s answer. Jason knows it’s a hell of a leap from brutal torture and murder to protection; he is still reeling from it, himself.

“If they weren’t with you, how did you know they were there? Why were you at the Manor?” Tim’s voice is shaking a little.

Jason swallows. “I was—I was watching you.” Tim looks pale and Jason hurries to say, “So when I saw them, I couldn’t let them hurt you, not after—” He can’t say it. “I had to save you,” he repeats, looking down. “Ra’s is—I couldn’t let him touch you.”

“Because he threw you in a Lazarus Pit.”

Jason flinches, memories of green fire rising up unbidden, and it’s not even a question, but he nods.

“But your eyes...they aren’t green anymore.” Tim says that like it means something.

Jason didn’t really know his eyes weren’t green. He hasn’t been looking in mirrors since—He can only shrug in response, throat too tight for words.

“Is the Pit gone?” Tim’s voice is painfully hopeful, like the Pit was the issue, like its absence will mean anything. 

Jason has to answer. Tim  _ deserves _ answers. “When I killed the Joker, it went away. It—it hasn’t come back. Yet.” Jason still can’t look at him, but Tim needs to know. “I won’t hurt you. If the Pit comes back, I might—but I won’t hurt you while it’s gone.” He stares down at his trembling hands. He’s never going to hurt anyone, again.

The silence stretches, and Jason finally has to look up. Tim looks like he’s steeling himself for something painful.

“Can you–can you tell me  _ why _ ? Why did you—why did the Pit—why  _ me?” _ His voice is quiet, and hoarse, and Jason can’t stand to hear it. He wants Tim to be away from him, somewhere safe, happy. Far, far away from Jason.

He looks down again. Tim asked that question a lot, had screamed it, had begged to know. He always wanted to  _ understand, _ like understanding would stop Jason or ease Tim’s torment. Jason knows he owes Tim anything he wants to know, and is taking a deep breath when Tim’s voice comes through, even more softly, saying “Please.”

Jason shudders; he can't have Tim begging him for anything else. He can’t  _ do _ that to him again, so he forces words through his painfully tight throat. “It wasn’t you.” 

He needs Tim to understand,  _ none  _ of this was Tim’s fault. It wasn’t because he was Robin, it was just—it wasn’t Tim’s fault. 

“It wasn’t you,” Jason repeats.

There’s a pause, and he looks up to see Tim waiting for the rest of it.

“I was broken. I  _ am _ broken. I—Ra’s and Talia threw me in a Lazarus Pit, you know that, and it makes you—I was so angry, and I couldn’t control it, but Talia—Talia said she’d teach me to control it.” 

Jason feels a wave of bitterness wash through him, remembering her gentle voice, kind words, and false promises of help. He’s had enough post-Pit clarity to see how delicately she manipulated his rage, how she sent him after his Da—Bruce, and all the rest. He firmly reminds himself,  _ not his family. _

Tim’s face shows a glint of understanding; he at least wouldn’t be stupid enough to trust Talia the way Jason did. Jason didn’t have any other options at the time, but it was still unbelievably stupid and Tim paid the price.

“She kept me updated on Gotham, on how things were at home.” His voice twists on the word home, but with longing or bitterness, even he can’t tell. “And she told me how quickly Bruce moved on, how he replaced me, and I found a kind of—of clarity in the rage. I hated you, for—for being in my place.” 

He hears an echo of Tim’s voice, pleading,  _ I can stay away from Bruce and Dick, they’re your family.  _ His throat tightens again, but Tim is standing there, waiting. “I wanted to test you at the Tower, to find out why Bruce replaced me quickly with you. But the Pit—it—it enjoyed—hurting you.” 

The silence is awful and Jason rushes on, “The only thing the Pit wanted to do after that was—was hurt you, and it—it liked knowing Bruce and Dick were hurting, too.” Jason’s grateful his stomach is empty, his nausea is so strong. “ And it made sure I enjoyed it; anything was better than the rage, but it wasn’t—wasn’t  _ me.” _

He stops, shaking, because it  _ was _ him. He used to fantasize about hurting criminals, getting justice in the most painful way possible. The Pit didn’t  _ create _ those desires; they came from him.

Jason remembers the intoxicating joy he’d felt listening to Tim screaming, breaking his bones, whipping him until he bled, and feels sick. He’ll never forget how he took so much pleasure in making plans for how to hurt Tim, how to  _ kill  _ Tim. He’s a monster.

Tim is looking ill, probably remembering the same way Jason is, and Jason looks away. “I don’t know if it will stay away, but you can see you’re safe now. I’m not—I won’t come for you again, not without the Pit. And I—I surrendered so they would put me in Blackgate or Arkham, so even if the Pit—even if—you’ll be safe.”

He risks a glance up at Tim, and Tim doesn’t look sick, but is staring at him with a distant, thoughtful look on his face. When Tim turns back to the panel, Jason is relieved the conversation is over, relieved that Tim has found some peace, and Jason will be left alone. But then his cell door opens.

Jason stares blankly at Tim, who says, “Jason, come on. Get up. You have to  _ go.” _ Go where? 

“Jason,  _ please,”  _ Tim pleads, and Jason flinches, because he’s heard his voice begging in so many different ways and somehow it’s happening  _ again. _ He thought—he could give Tim anything, but Tim wants him to leave? Avoid punishment for his crimes and endanger everyone?

He studies Tim closely for a moment. Tim is shaking, shivering really. His eyes are darting around the room, looking everywhere but at Jason. Jason clears his throat and Tim flinches. 

Quietly, Jason asks, “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting you  _ out, _ that’s obvious,” Tim says desperately.

“Timmy,” but Tim makes a wounded noise, stepping back, and Jason slams his mouth shut. That’s what the Pit called Tim, when it enjoyed hurting him. 

Jason swallows and says, “I’m here for a reason. I can’t leave.”

Tim sounds frantic. “Jason, it wasn’t  _ you.  _ I don’t need to see your eyes to know that, and now they’re not green and the tests show only residual Lazarus in your system and—” he stops to heave a breath that sounds more like a sob. “It wasn’t  _ you,  _ you don’t deserve to be in a cell.”

Jason’s hands start to shake and his stomach tightens. “It  _ was _ still me. I did those things.” He looks at Tim, at the shaky, shivering creature he made from a bright Robin. “I deserve to be here. I deserve whatever happens to me.”

Tim’s face is anguished. Jason thinks Tim might be physically pulling Jason up and out the cell, if only Tim could stand to get closer to Jason. 

Jason can’t make himself stand up and he can’t make himself look away. He’s causing Tim pain, again, after he swore never to hurt him or anyone again, and he can’t even  _ stop. _ If he gets up and leaves, Tim and everyone else will be in danger.

It’s a relief when Bruce’s shout shatters the tension.

“Tim!  _ Tim!  _ Get away from him!”

Bruce is running. Jason can hear the panic in his voice, and he doesn’t blame him. 

Tim turns to face Bruce, voice fierce when he says, “He doesn’t need to be here, Bruce. This is  _ Jason,  _ without the Pit. It was the Pit that made Hood do those things.”

Bruce doesn’t stop running until he gets between Tim and Jason, and Jason approves. He watches Bruce with steady eyes, not getting off his bed. 

Bruce is almost furious with his worry. “We don’t _ know  _ that! This could all be a trap! You can’t endanger yourself for a _ theory.” _

Tim turns to Jason and demands, “Tell him! Tell him the Pit is gone.”

Jason looks to Bruce, and sees his face twisted with an emotion Jason doesn’t have the energy to analyze. But there’s no objection, so Jason looks down and quietly says, “It went away after I killed the Joker and hasn’t come back since.” 

There’s a pause and Bruce says, intensely, “But it  _ might.” _

Jason agrees with him, so he glances up and agrees, “It might.” Bruce gives him another unreadable look, then presses a button over Tim’s protests. The cell door closes and turns opaque. Jason feels the walls pressing in on him, and gets up to do a pacing meditation. He won’t sleep, not with panic creeping in at the edges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, you idiot.
> 
> (SarcasmGal, that’s for you. It fits almost fits here.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you, delightful comments or not. I’m glad you’re enjoying this so much.

Shaking with fury, Tim finds himself shouting at Bruce, “You can’t keep him locked up, Bruce! It’s  _ Jason! _ Look at his eyes! You can’t  _ do _ this!”

Bruce looks at him, face torn between anger and worry, and says, “It’s not worth the  _ risk, _ Tim. We can’t risk him hurting anyone else.”

Tim has never been this angry. Bruce  _ knows _ about the Lazarus Pit, knows more than Tim does, and still he refuses to see Jason as  _ Jason.  _ A part of Tim acknowledges that it must be horrible to find your child driven mad, violent and sadistic, but the madness is gone and this is  _ Jason. _

“The ninja weren’t with him!” Tim realizes Bruce won’t believe that without proof. “The Pit is  _ gone,  _ Bruce. Look at his  _ eyes _ ; He needs to come  _ home.”  _ The anger drained away and Tim is just pleading.

Bruce is cold, though, when he says, “He’s going to Arkham when I’m done running tests.”

To his utter shock, Tim bursts into tears. He hasn’t rested since Hood—since  _ Jason _ took him from the Manor, where he was supposed to be  _ safe, _ but apparently he was safe and Jason was—was  _ saving _ him, saving him from actual ninja? And now maybe he’s safe, if the Pit stays gone, but he doesn’t know how to  _ really _ believe that, when Jason doesn’t believe it, and Jason is—he’s almost home, he’s so close, and Bruce—Bruce is being—it’s suddenly all too much. 

Tim sits right down on the Cave floor, sobbing. Bruce sinks down with him, wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his back. Tim flings his arms around him, and sobs into his chest.

“Bruce, it’s  _ Jason, _ he’s come home. It’s Jason,  _ please, _ Bruce. We can’t send him away. It was the Pit; it wasn’t him,  _ please _ , Bruce.” 

It feels like his chest is cracking open, heart exposed and breaking; this is everything they have wanted, even as it terrifies him, but no one else seems to see it. Why does no one  _ see  _ it?

When his sobs taper off, he looks up to see Bruce looking down worriedly. “ _ Please,  _ Bruce, please don’t send him to Arkham.” Tim’s eyes start to fill with tears again, and Bruce’s face twists.

He stands up, lifting Tim with him, and says, “Okay, sweetheart, he can stay here for a little longer.”

Jason should be  _ free _ but Tim will take what he can get. He relaxes, turning his face into Bruce’s broad chest, his body suddenly heavy. He doesn’t object to being carried; he feels so  _ safe.  _ Now that he knows Hood is Jason, maybe he can sleep. Bruce will stay, or he can crawl into bed with Dick.

Tim can admit to himself it was terrifying to open the cell door and be alone with Jason. Despite knowing he wasn’t Hood anymore, knowing he was  _ Jason  _ and Jason wouldn’t hurt him, his body is thrumming with leftover adrenaline. 

And, as though Tim never decided Hood wasn’t Jason Todd, he’s using every last bit of remaining consciousness to plan how to bring Jason back into the family. His last thought, before he slips into sleep, is that it will be really awful going back to Drake Manor when Jason finally comes home.

\---

Jason is exhausted, but can’t stop pacing. When he stops, the walls close in on him. He could handle that, but when he starts to smell dirt, he feels trapped, and when he feels trapped he hears the Joker’s laughter. And when he hears the laughter, he sees green and he’s terrified the Pit will come back. So he can’t stop, and can’t rest.

When the door to his cell opens, Jason automatically turns. It’s Alfred. Jason stares at him, shock blanking his mind.

Distantly he hears Bruce say, “No, Alfred, you can’t go in there.”

And Alfred’s voice, how could he have forgotten his  _ voice,  _ saying, “Master Bruce, I see no danger. Master Timothy is convinced he has no more Lazarus in him and your tests show the same. You are not going to keep me from this boy while he is here in your dungeon.”

“Alfred, if he attacks you, you’ll be too close.”

Alfred actually tuts at him, saying, “Well, then you’d know it was a trick,” as he walks into the cell. 

Jason is still frozen, still stuck, his mind empty but screaming at the same time. Alfred walks right up to him, touches his cheek and says, “My dear boy,” and that’s all it takes.

Jason starts to sob. He doesn’t mean to, surely he cried enough last night, but he finds he doesn’t know how to stop. He can feel Alfred leading him over to his cot, and then Jason just collapses on him, sobbing into his always sensible shoulder. There’s so much regret and pain and grief, and he’s been keeping it all inside. There was no one who cared, no one who  _ should _ care. Jason deserved to carry it all alone.

But this is  _ Alfred,  _ and Alfred has always been there for Jason, even when Jason was the one who started the fight, made the wrong choice, or yelled first. Alfred has  _ always _ loved him, and Jason didn’t think he’d ever be loved again.

So he cries and cries, clinging to Alfred, terrified Bruce is going to come in and drag Alfred away. Alfred rubs his back and says soothing things in that voice that Jason didn’t even realize he missed. 

When he’s run out of tears, he’s too drained to feel embarrassed. He rests against Alfred’s shoulder for another moment or two, before pulling back and giving him a watery smile. Alfred just pulls him back in for a hug and says, “My dear boy.”

Alfred glances around, finally seeing the cell. His eyes find the bare walls, the harsh lighting, and the untouched MRE in the corner. He purses his lips, and says, “Wait here for me, Jason.” 

Jason barely keeps from clinging on, terrified Bruce won’t let Alfred come back. But he’s more afraid of how it will look if he doesn’t let Alfred leave.

He lets Alfred go, watches him walk past Bruce hovering at the doorway, past Dick and Tim lurking further back. Jason won’t look at any of them; he is watching Alfred walk further and further away. No one closes his cell door. They are all waiting, silent. Jason is trembling, sitting on his cot.

When Alfred returns, his hands are full. Jason can see a plate, and he almost smiles. Alfred always did think food and tea helped, and he was rarely wrong. Jason knows, though, that this is a time where he’s going to be wrong.

Alfred hands the plate to Jason, who takes it and chooses a scone automatically. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, but he can’t bear to disappoint Alfred, so he starts nibbling. Alfred opens the bag and takes out a stack of books. Jason stops eating and stares.

“You’ll need something to do if you’re going to be spending a lot of time in here.” 

Every time Alfred speaks, Jason’s throat gets tight and he has to clear his throat before he can reply.

“I don’t think I’ll be here that long, Alfie.”

Alfred glances towards the door, toward Bruce and Dick and Tim, and merely hums. He lifts the last item from the bag, and Jason’s eyes fill with tears again. It’s a warm blanket, striped with reds, oranges, and yellows. It was his favorite blanket, and he loved curling up under it and reading a book.

He sets aside the plate and reaches out a shaking hand and takes it from Alfred. It’s as soft and bright as he remembered. He holds it tight, and tries to smile at Alfred, but it’s wobbling and his tears are starting to fall. Alfred gently folds him back in another hug, and Jason cries again.

This time, though, he can’t stop talking. “They took me from Gotham, after I—after I crawled out—They—they said I was looking for—for Bruce, and they brought me to Ra’s. I don’t remember; I wasn’t really  _ me,  _ too much damage from—from—and nothing had healed right.” 

Alfred is gently stroking his back as Jason pours out the agonies of being ruled by the Pit, not even  _ realizing _ it until the Pit was gone. He sobs about Talia and being so  _ stupid _ for trusting her, and being manipulated by her. She said just what the Pit wanted to hear, and Jason fell for it.

“I should have just come  _ home, _ Alfred,” he's heaving for air, but he has to say it. “I should have just come home.” 

And he should have. They might have helped him before—before it all went wrong. He aches with regret, his stomach twisting, his heart yearning and broken. He's facing a lifetime of misery and punishment.

It's a relief to cry on Alfred, but eventually he comes to the painful realization that nothing is going to change. He's suddenly acutely aware of Bruce, watching all this, and doesn't want to know what he might think.

He can’t see Tim and Dick, but they’re surely still there as well. No one would leave Alfred unguarded with the Red Hood.

Fatigue falls over him suddenly, and he draws back from Alfred. Alfred looks at him and says, “What else do you need, Master Jason?” 

He thought all he needed was punishment, but, faced with Alfred, he yearns deeply for absolution, for safety, for family. 

He can’t have those, he thinks coldly, and it does him no good to be naive and childish. He shoves the desires as far down as he can. 

But he’s still raw, still shaky, so he glances at Bruce and whispers, “Can you ask him to leave my cell door clear?” The vulnerability of this request leaves him breathless but he has to try. “I don’t do—well in small, enclosed spaces.”

He’s not even sure why. Talia told him he must have crawled out of his grave, but he doesn’t consciously remember. The only remnant he has of that is the claustrophobia. He’s grateful, though. He has enough horrors without that particular memory.

Alfred merely cups his face in his hands while Jason trembles, blinking back tears and trying to push old dreams back down. “I’ll see what I can do, Master Jason.”

Jason watches as he stands and leaves. The door closes, but doesn’t go opaque. Alfred has always known what to say to Bruce.

Jason thought his heart was as broken as could be, that there was nothing left to lose. But Alfred brought back in warmth and love, and to cut it out again is almost more than he can bear.

The Pit made Jason a danger to everyone, and there’s no guarantee it won’t start whispering to him again. Shuddering at the thought, Jason scrubs his face with his hands.

Even if Alfred comes back, Jason can’t let his guard back down.

\---

Learning that Jason was apparently alive in Gotham, before Ra’s and Talia put him in the Pit, shocked everyone. They’d all assumed the League stole his body to twist Jason against them. No one was comfortable with the idea that they’d missed Jason alive, Gotham.

Jason’s grief and pain, raw and genuine, shook them all. Even Bruce was somber for a moment, before throwing himself into figuring out how and when Jason left his grave, assuming the League hadn’t lied to Jason. Dick, his face drawn and pained, left silently and Alfred, after requesting Jason’s door be left transparent, shut himself up in his office.

Tim sees the new information as all the more reason Jason needs to come home. It wasn’t Jason’s fault. He was under the influence, coerced, practically mind-controlled. Once someone is free of the foreign influence, you don’t keep them locked up. Despite this, Tim isn’t hopeful Bruce is going to see reason. Alfred is his best ally.

The afternoon after Jason’s breakdown, Tim finds Alfred in his office. He cuts right to the point. 

“Jason needs to be free. You saw that; Red Hood wasn’t _him._ He can’t stay locked up forever when it wasn’t his fault. We need to let him go.”

Alfred glances up for a moment, his pen rapidly filling in lines. “Go where, Master Timothy?”

Tim is taken aback. “Where? Anywhere away from that cell. Home, once Bruce understands.”

Alfred makes a considering sound. “He could have done that when the Pit first left him.”

That’s an excellent point, one Tim hasn’t considered. He sits down heavily. Why didn’t Jason leave Gotham? Or come home? Why did he disappear, only to surrender himself and sit meekly in a cage? 

Tim looks at Alfred blankly and says, “But he shouldn’t be in a cell.” 

“Now that, Master Timothy, we can both agree on.” Alfred sets down his pen and fully looks at Tim for the first time. “I know you have your history with Jason, but have you looked carefully at him?”

Tim hasn’t, not really. He studies Jason from the corner of his eye, occasionally looks at his face to remind himself the green is gone, but he can’t look directly at Jason for too long.

“He’s far too thin, which isn’t surprising considering he’s not eating. He came into the Cave already too thin, and he hasn’t eaten since he got here.”

There’s a pause, while Tim absorbs that and its implications. If Jason didn’t come home when he could, if he’s not eating, and he’s obviously carrying the guilt for what he did as Red Hood...

Alfred sighs. “I think, Mastor Timothy, this may be the best place for Jason right now. We can’t simply let him out, not when Bruce and Dick won’t let him in the Manor. He is safe, he has access to medical care and food, and there are people here who care deeply about him. He doesn’t deserve to be in the cell. I’d like for Mastor Bruce to let him come home, and I think we can accomplish that, the two of us, hmm? I think perhaps you can talk with Master Richard, and leave Mastor Bruce to me.”

Tim knows if anyone can get Bruce to see reason, it will be Alfred. 

For all the obsessing Tim has done over the best way to get Jason free, he hadn’t really thought about what to do  _ after _ that. He can’t really... _ think _ about Jason, not without triggering memories he doesn’t want to see. He hadn’t even realized he had a blind spot about Jason. 

Somehow, he just sort of assumed when Bruce and Dick saw Jason wasn’t really Red Hood, once Jason was free of the Pit, Jason would just...come home, the past washed away. He hadn’t considered that what had happened left its mark on Jason, the same way it has on Tim. And he had never considered the option of leaving Jason in the cell while they worked on Bruce and Dick.

He remembers Jason’s stillness, resignation, and the naked grief. Alfred has seen the situation more clearly, seen  _ Jason _ more clearly. Tim knew it was a good idea to get Alfred on his side.

“Alfred, we have to show him we know he’s Jason,” Tim says, thinking. “Even if he’s safe in the cell... it’s not good for him to be left alone. He clearly feels guilt for—” 

He cuts off. He can’t—he won’t—he’s focusing on getting Jason free and home, and not thinking about all—all of  _ that. _

Alfred looks at him knowingly and suggests, “Perhaps we should visit him tonight, when they’re on patrol? Remind him he’s more than his past? And show him we won’t blame him for it.”

Tim nods, not trusting his voice. It’s the right thing to do. Jason needs it and Tim will just—he’ll just make it work, that’s all.

\---

Grateful his cell door isn’t opaque, Jason is careful to not possibly anger Bruce by seeming to watch anything. He curls up on the bed, under the bright blanket that smells exactly as he remembered, and tries to lose himself in a book. He hadn’t exactly forgotten how much he liked reading, it’s just that Pit never gave him  _ time _ to remember. It was always with him, encouraging him to plan, helping him focus.

Alfred brought him a wonderful collection of books; Jason would have expected no less. He just can’t focus on the words or the story. He finds himself staring blankly at the page, lost in thought.

He hadn’t let himself do much thinking, once the Pit left. It’s not that he  _ misses _ the Pit, because Jason would rather die than go back to being Red Hood, but he can’t shake a sense of loss. It was easier with the green hissing, and even after, when he shrouded himself in a haze of almost-madness. Somehow, though, rescuing Tim and being back in the Cave has tethered him firmly to reality.

He wonders how long he’s going to be in this cell, and when Bruce will incarcerate him somewhere else, maybe somewhere he can float away again. He hopes Tim will stay away, focus on recovery, and leave Jason in peace. And he’s grateful neither Dick nor Bruce approach his cell to try to talk to him, because Jason isn’t sure how he’d react.

He’s so lost in thought, he doesn’t realize someone is at his cell until the door hisses open. He drops the book, jerking his head up to see Tim and Alfred. Behind them, he notices a table set with food, plates, and a tea set.

His heart beats faster. Are they expecting him to come out and eat with them? Involuntarily, he glances around for Bruce. Surely Bruce won’t allow this, won’t make Jason come out of his cell. He can’t hurt people when he’s in here.

“Master Jason, we were hoping you would join us.” Jason stares at Alfred, sure his face is showing his shock.

Tim, deflating a little at Jason’s hesitation, adds, “Please, Jason? Please eat with us.” Jason can feel the blood drain out of his face at the simple plea. He can’t—he  _ won’t _ ever deny Tim anything. He wants Tim to  _ never _ ask him for anything, again. His body feeling numb, he stands and follows them.

“We know the Pit wasn’t you,” Tim earnestly tells him as they sit.

“Indeed, Master Jason,” Alfred says, as he pours them all tea. “You would never have willingly hurt Master Timothy.”

Jason swallows hard against the memories, and doesn’t respond.

He ends up nibbling half-heartedly on his scone, trying to keep his heart rate down, listening to Alfred talk about arguing with the caterers for the Gala next month, although Alfred would never do anything so improper as say they were fighting. Alfred and the caterers never got along, Jason remembers this well, but it was always “having a small miscommunication.” Jason and Bruce used to look at each other, and then quickly look away before laughing. No matter what company Alfred used, someone was always incompetent.

He smiles for a moment, and then it drops away when he remembers he’s not ever going to laugh with Bruce again. He doesn’t  _ deserve _ it, and at least Bruce understands that. Tim is shooting him sideways glances, making Jason even more uncomfortable. His stomach cramps, and he sets his scone down. Alfred looks sad, but Jason can’t make himself eat anymore. 

If he pretends, even for a moment, that he deserves to be out of his cell, he’ll break even further going back in. He tortured Tim, repeatedly. He murdered dozens of people. He doesn’t deserve human kindness or affection. He’s not who they think is; the Pit being present doesn’t absolve Jason of what happened. And what if the Pit comes _ back?  _ He could kill both of them before they even realized the problem.

The ridiculous attempt at a meal is cut short when the Batmobile roars back into the Cave. Jason is suddenly relieved. Bruce knows better than to let Jason out of his cell. Bruce  _ knows _ he’s dangerous. 

Bruce looks furious when he throws open the Batmobile door, and Jason automatically tries to shrink in his chair. He’s not afraid of Bruce, exactly, but Bruce is wearing his armor and gauntlets and it would be so easy for him to—Alfred lays a calming hand on his shoulder

Tim’s furious voice echoes. “You set an alert to his cell door, that's how you keep getting here so fast.” He’s standing, glaring at Bruce.

Equally furious, Bruce snaps back. “Of course I set an alert, Tim! You’re in danger just by having him here. I'm going to monitor him closely.”

Even Jason can see that just fuels Tim’s rage. Tim opens his mouth, but Alfred smoothly cuts in. “Well, Master Bruce, we have everything well in hand. Would you like to join us or go back on patrol?”

Appalled, Bruce says, “ _Join_ _you_? Alfred, this is not a social hour. Hood is a dangerous criminal who's nearly killed Tim multiple times.” 

His voice is harsh, unforgiving, and Jason flinches. Alfred gently squeezes the hand still on his shoulder, but it brings no comfort to him. Bruce is only speaking the truth.

Alfred says, “My grandson has been returned to me—” but Bruce actually cuts him off. Jason spares a moment for awe. He’s never seen  _ anyone _ cut Alfred off before.

“He's not Jason, Alfred! Jason  _ died _ and we  _ buried him,  _ and this isn't  _ him.  _ Whoever crawled out of that grave isn’t Jason.” 

Bruce’s voice cuts like a whip, and Jason flinches again, knowing he deserves the rejection. He’s  _ not  _ who they lost. He should be back in his cell; he should be locked up somewhere far away, he should— 

Alfred stares coldly at Bruce and says. “I'll decide that for myself, thank you. I have been given a miracle and your willful disbelief will not take it from me.” He turns his back on Bruce, who stands there, shocked. 

Jason can’t stay here, though, it’s not _ safe  _ for any of them. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he murmurs, but doesn’t move.

Alfred sighs and says, “We will visit again another night. I will talk to Master Bruce and come to an agreement.” Alfred rises and, after a brief glance at Bruce, Jason follows. Tim, glowering, trails behind with a plate of a food.

Going back into his cell, he takes the plate of food from Tim, even though he won’t be able to eat it. At least he had some tea, and he’s had no problem drinking some of the bottles of water they keep giving him. When the door shuts, he’s grateful to be shut away from everyone. This isn’t his place, isn’t his home; he doesn’t belong.

There’s no going back and undoing what he’s done, and what he’s done is unforgivable. Alfred and Tim are trying to act like it’s going to be fine, like the absence of the Pit washes Jason clean; they might be better heroes than Dick and Bruce in that regard, but they’re  _ wrong.  _ There’s no redemption for Jason, no forgiveness, no way this ends well.

He’s ready to be out of the Cave. The longer he’s here, the more he remembers what he’s lost.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mind the tags, friends

If Bruce is going to show up and ruin their attempts to help Jason, Tim needs to bring Dick in now.

Tim’s chest aches when he remembers how silent Jason was, and how he didn’t hesitate to walk back into his cell. He’s a shadow of the Robin Tim admired, and he’s nothing like the Red Hood Tim feared.

Tim plans to appeal to the side of Dick that comforts victims and goes halfway across the country last minute to console a friend. The more Dick sees Jason as a person, the less he’ll want Jason in a cage. If Dick can run interference with Bruce out in the field, Alfred and Tim can keep showing Jason they know he’s not Hood.

He finds Dick in his room, looking subdued. Tim doesn’t blame him. Between simply having Jason in the Cave, witnessing Jason’s breakdown, and Bruce’s fury at Tim and Alfred letting him out, there’s a pall hanging over the Manor.

Knocking on the door, Tim says, “Hey.”

Dick looks up, trying to smile. “Hey, baby bird.” 

“What’s on your mind?” Tim needs to draw him into conversation, and slowly coax him towards Tim’s line of thought.

Dick restlessly moves through his room as he says, “Jason isn’t doing well. I don’t think he belongs in the Cave.”

_ Finally,  _ Tim thinks. This is going to be easy if Dick already realizes it’s really Jason. 

“I was thinking that in Arkham they have round-the-clock care…” Dick trails off at the venomous look at Tim's face. 

“Jason is your  _ brother,  _ and you think he belongs in Arkham?” Tim realizes that he’s too loud, too upset. He’d planned to be subtle, delicate, but knowing Dick wants Jason in  _ Arkham _ for some pretense at  _ helping _ is unbearable. “You think sending him  _ away _ is going to help?”

Dick moves towards Tim, but Tim can’t stop himself. 

“We can help him,  _ here, _ in the Manor. He doesn’t need to be locked up, he needs his family! I thought you at least would be better than Bruce; you’re supposed to be his  _ brother!” _

His face is hot, heart racing, blood pumping, and snaps when Dick approaches Tim gently, like he’s a spooked animal. 

“Stop it, Dick, I’m  _ fine. _ Well, I’m not fine, because you’re an  _ idiot _ and I’m  _ furious _ with you!” 

“Tim.” Dick’s voice is soft, gentle. “You’re crying.”

Tim reaches a hand up and finds his face wet. 

“But, I’m angry.” He  _ is _ angry. “Jason is—he needs—no one  _ understands— _ it’s not  _ right.” _

The anger is draining out of Tim as fast as it came, leaving him with just aching sadness. 

“Dick.” Now Tim can feel his tears. “It wasn’t his fault. What Hood did—that wasn’t  _ him _ .” 

Dick moves to hug Tim and Tim holds out a hand.

“Wait,  _ please _ , I need you to listen. When—when one of us is compromised—” It’s getting hard to talk, the tears coming faster and harder. “When one of us is—is compromised, we don’t hold that against each other when we’re free of the influence. Jason was under longer than—than any of us have been, but it wasn’t his  _ fault. _ You heard him; they  _ threw him in the Pit.” _

Dick gathers Tim into a hug, and Tim is crying too hard to stop him. Voice muffled by Dick’s shirt, Tim says, “Why won’t you and Bruce see it wasn’t him? We have him back; Jason is  _ back. _ We can’t punish him for what he did when it wasn’t him.” 

Tim's voice gives out and he just clings to Dick, sobbing. None of this is fair or right. What happened to him was awful, and he’s suddenly realizing he might need to talk to a therapist sooner rather than later, but punishing someone who’s innocent won’t heal Tim. Somehow, they end up on Dick’s bed, Dick curled protectively around him, and Dick holds him until his crying stops.

As Tim shakily makes his case for Dick keeping Bruce from rushing back every time they open Jason’s door, Dick listens carefully.

“But what if this  _ is _ a trick, Tim?” Tim opens his mouth, furious again, but Dick pushes himself up on one hand, holding out the other. “Just wait, and think. You don’t know what it was like; you went missing with Hood  _ four times, _ and the third time Hood cut your throat  _ on the phone  _ with Bruce. You may be doing fine—or at least you say you are, but think about how Bruce and I feel.”

A feeling uncomfortably akin to guilt makes Tim squirm. He hadn’t thought about what it was like for them, waiting, wondering,  _ knowing _ Hood was torturing him, and yet unable to save him. It’s maybe a little more understandable the way Bruce shows up, furious. Bruce always gets angry when he’s scared; Tim can’t believe he forgot that.

If Jason really is tricking them, Tim and Alfred wouldn’t have a chance. Tim isn’t naive enough to think otherwise. Bruce must be terrified he’s going to come into the Cave and find their bodies, or worse, and nothing Dick does out in the field is going to be enough to stop Bruce from coming home to keep them safe.

“What if…” Tim trails off, thinking, pushing himself up to sit next to Dick. “What if I checked in every half hour?”

“Over the comms?” Dick thinks for a moment. “That sounds reasonable to me, baby bird, but Bruce is probably going to need it every 15 minutes.” That’s probably stretching it, actually, for Bruce. “And you have to wear a panic button.”

“A panic button?” He leans into Dick, finding comfort in the closeness and warmth. Talking about Jason, even obliquely, leaves him unsettled at best.

“If something does happen, and I don’t think it will, it’s the best way to immediately notify us of a problem.” Dick wraps an arm around Tim, and pulls him close.

Tim doesn’t like this plan. He doesn’t like taking precautions for something he knows isn’t going to happen. Jason is free of the Pit and, although he’s damaged, he’s not twisted up and evil.

“Fine. But nothing is going to happen.”

Dick holds him even tighter. “It better not, baby bird. We just want you to be safe.”

Tim basks in the warmth and safety, drifting for a moment, before he asks, “When do you go back to Bludhaven?” Dick has been around a lot, lately, and it’s been nice,  _ really _ nice. But Tim knows Dick won’t stay forever, he has a job and an apartment.

“Uh, well, I...don’t.” Dick sounds uncomfortable, suddenly, dropping his arm.

Tim scoots forward and turns to look right at him. “What do you mean, you  _ don’t? _ Did you take a leave or something?”

“Or something,” Dick agrees.

Tim stares at him, mind racing. “Did you...Did you  _ quit _ your job?”

Dick looks away.

“Dick,  _ why? _ You love being a police officer.” 

Heaving a sigh, Dick flops back down on his bed. He stares up the ceiling while Tim waits.

“You—you had a fever.” Tim stays silent, waiting. “You were—everyone  _ said _ you were going to be fine, but your back and your  _ feet— _ and then with the fever.” Dick swallows. “I wasn’t sure you were going to be okay.”

A flash of vivid, unwanted memory floats past Tim. 

“They were willing to put me on leave, sure, it was a family emergency of sorts. But—Hood was still out there. You weren’t  _ safe.  _ I couldn’t go back until you were safe.”

Tim flops down on top of him. Dick is trembling, just a little, and Tim feels even more guilty. He hadn’t thought,  _ once, _ about what it must have been like for everyone looking for him.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

Bruce and Dick are always surprising Tim, by looking out for him. He’s not used to having anyone who cares.

“But now Jason’s done with the Pit, and I’m safe. You could go back?”

Tim doesn’t  _ want _ Dick to go back, but Dick’s an adult with a life on his own.

“What if the Pit  _ isn’t _ gone? What if it comes back? What if something else happens and I’m  _ not here?” _ Dick speaks in a rush, trembling harder, and Tim wiggles his arms under him, holding him tight, trying to offer comfort.

Any verbal reassurance would be meaningless.

Dick is almost inaudible when he says, “I can’t lose another brother.”

There’s nothing to say to that, except, “You didn’t lose me. And you have Jason back.”

Dick is silent, but, when Tim tucks his head under Dick’s chin, he wraps both arms around him and holds him almost painfully tight.

\---

Bruce in his study, trying to catch up on paperwork. As Dick and Tim carefully outline their plans, Bruce looks at them, sighs, and visibly caves.

“But I want check-ins every ten minutes.” 

Tim expected that; he’s actually a bit surprised Bruce isn’t coming up with some kind of secret code. After all, an evil Jason could threaten Alfred and make Tim say anything over the comms. 

“And I want to have an emergency phrase.” There it is. “If something seems wrong, I’ll ask if you finished your schoolwork. If everything is fine, tell me you’re finished. If there’s a problem, remind me you need help with your math.”

Bruce isn’t making him go back to Gotham Academy, but Tim needs to keep up with classes. Tim suspects that if he refuses to go back next year, tutors might be hired. He doesn’t even think about how Bruce will handle his parents when they come back; Bruce just  _ will,  _ because he’s Bruce.

Logically, he knows he could go home. He’s healed, physically, and Tim doesn’t want to be a bother. He tells himself he needs to be here, to help Alfred, to protect Jason, to finish bringing Jason back into the family. But the truth is, even with Hood being gone, the thought of leaving the Manor makes him break out into a cold sweat.

“That’s unnecessary, because Jason is not going to hurt anyone, but fine.”

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair as he leaves, saying, “See? I told you we just needed to work it out; you’ll get your time with Jason and Alfred.”

Tim is left alone with Bruce. His hands are clammy. 

“Bruce?” His voice is quieter than he wanted, more vulnerable. He’d practiced this, so he could sound casual, but it didn’t seem to help.

Bruce looks remarkable paternal for a moment, caring and concerned. “Tim? You don’t have to spend time with Jason. I can handle this without—”

“No! No, I was just—” Tim looks down, scuffing his foot on the floor, and says, “I’m sorry for scaring you by opening Jason’s cell and not telling you. Dick pointed out how awful it was for you two to not be able to find me when—to not be able to find me. I hadn’t thought about it like that.” 

He had only become Robin to save Batman from his spiral after Jason’s death, so Tim hadn’t really thought Bruce would ever be worried about  _ him.  _ Tim was just there to fill a gap, and now he was just here to bring Jason home.

He doesn’t even hear Bruce move, but suddenly he is wrapped in strong, warm arms. He rests, silently, safe for the moment. 

“Bruce? What we talked about back on the Watchtower....Is that still—is that still an option?”

Tim would prefer to be able to leave the Manor without having a panic attack, and therapy is probably the only way for him to get there. If Bruce has gone, and other League members have gone, there’s nothing shameful in it. And maybe if he’s going, he can talk Bruce into letting Jason go as well. Tim’s not the only one suffering under the memories.

“Of course it’s still an option.” 

Tim relaxes further into his arms. This is all going to work out. He’s going to help Jason, get help for himself, and heal this family. Everything is going to be fine.

\---

Bruce can't stop worrying. Every moment that Hood is in the Cave, everyone is in danger. And Tim keeps _ opening his door. _

It was a mistake, bringing Hood to the Cave. When he saw Hood, in just jeans and a t-shirt, wan and vulnerable, Bruce  _ knew _ it was a trick and that he had to arrest him. But he couldn’t put someone who looked like a sick, vulnerable version of his son in Arkham, so he told himself he needed to run tests and figure out why the ninja came into the Manor.

Now no one is safe, and Bruce can’t stop worrying.

Talia sent him a terse message, saying the attack on the Manor was a miscommunication, so that was one less thing to worry about. Assuming she’s telling the truth.

But if he sends Hood away, now, Tim will break even further. Bruce just needs to wait this out, wait for Hood to show his true nature. This—this  _ pretense  _ at regret, remorse, is merely that: a pretense. Bruce will give Tim time to come to that conclusion, and monitor him carefully to keep him safe.

More frustrating is the fact that Alfred won’t drop the idea that Hood is really Jason, who is “cured” and should “come home.” If Bruce argues, Alfred gets more and more disapproving, so Bruce refuses to talk with him about it. This is  _ not  _ Jason and no amount of wishful thinking will make it real. Nothing stops Alfred from talking  _ at _ him, though.

Dick is supporting Tim, despite the doubts Bruce can see he has, but then so is Bruce. They’ll always support Tim.

In the middle of the night, Bruce can admit he’s afraid it  _ is _ Jason, and he’s making a mistake.

After Tim leaves, Alfred bustles in.

“Not today, Alfred,” Bruce says firmly. “You’re getting your tea time with Jason; isn’t that enough?”

“Master Bruce, I hope you would know that tea time is  _ never _ in the middle of the night.”

They could let Hood out of the cell in the middle of the day, but Tim doesn’t want any chance of Bruce showing up and “looming.”

“I know, Alfred.” Bruce rubs his hands over his face, trying to scrub away his fatigue. He’s worrying too much to sleep.

Setting down a tray, Alfred asks, “Have you noticed that Jason isn’t eating?”

“We’re giving him plenty of food, Alfred.” Bruce shuffles through the paperwork he was working on earlier, trying to encourage Alfred to leave.

“But he is not  _ eating _ it.” Alfred’s voice is pointed, and Bruce tries to ignore it.

“Maybe he’s just not hungry.”

Alfred makes a displeased sound and Bruce looks up at him for the first time.

“Even if you don’t think he’s your son, he is still a person locked up in your care. You should be concerned at how thin he is, how tired he is, and that he hasn’t eaten more than a bite or two since you brought him in two nights ago.”

A great lassitude falls over Bruce. It’s just more of Hood’s tricks: pretend to stop eating, gain sympathy, and abuse their trust to hurt someone. Maybe Tim, or Dick, or even Alfred.

“I’ll look into it, Alfred.”

Alfred waits, as though Bruce would say more, but eventually leaves silently. Disapproval hangs around him like a cloud.

Bruce sighs. He can’t lie to Alfred, so now he has to go through the video feed and then he’ll have to show Alfred that Hood  _ is _ eating, but only when no one is around. It’s probably better than the paperwork, anyways.

\---

Hood is  _ not  _ eating. He took a bite of a scone when Alfred brought them, another bite during the first meal that Tim and Alfred arranged, and there’s a small pile of untouched MREs in the corner.

Hood looks...painfully thin, and Bruce finds it difficult not to think of him as Jason, as his  _ son. _

The man is listless, barely moving through the day, curled up under the striped blanket. He keeps his back to the cameras, so Bruce can’t see his face.

Bruce is filled with a sudden desire to confront him, to  _ make _ him eat, make him admit he’s here to hurt them. He needs Hood  _ gone.  _ He needs to not see the face of his dead son any more.

Forget about paperwork, forget about letting Tim slowly realize that Hood isn’t Jason, Bruce is going to force the issue  _ now. _

Thankfully, he’s already in his study and won’t attract attention when he goes down to Cave.

\---

Jason’s so tired, but he can’t sleep. He  _ won’t  _ sleep. When he sleeps, he sees Tim screaming, breaking, dying, and everything is green. Better to stay awake.

His blanket is a blessing and curse, comforting him as much as it torments him. He shouldn’t accept the comfort, he doesn’t _ deserve _ it, and he won’t be able to _ keep _ it. But his fingers cling to it fiercely and he can’t keep himself from using it.

He’s curled up under it, trying to stop the trembling, when he hears something drop into his cell.

It’s an odd time for them to be giving him food, unless he lost a chunk of time. Again.

He rolls over, only to see Bruce in civilian clothes looking absolutely furious. A small curl of real fear unfurls in Jason’s stomach. Bruce is Batman, he wouldn’t hurt Jason—but Jason _ tortured _ Tim, and maybe—

“Pick it up.”

He flinches. That’s Batman’s voice, deep with rage. Automatically, Jason goes and picks up the protein bar. He tries to tell himself it’s going to be fine, but he’s so tired, and Bruce is so  _ angry,  _ he doesn’t even know why Bruce would come here now and— 

Jason stands, clutching the bar.

“Eat it.” Bruce’s voice is unforgiving, and a hard lump forms in Jason’s stomach. 

He just—he’s trying to wait until he’s gone from here, until the memories don’t make him remember. He’s waiting to be sent away, he just—

He  _ can’t _ eat, or else he would, but—

He swallows. “I—I’m not—“

“This ends  _ here,  _ Hood.”

Jason flinches again, but starts to open the bar with shaking fingers. 

“You’re not going to make Tim and Alfred, and now Dick, feel  _ sorry _ for you by pretending you can’t eat.” 

Bruce’s voice is vibrating with fury. Jason takes a small bite, and his stomach lurches.

“You’ll never trick  _ me, _ Hood. I know who you are.”

Jason knows, he  _ knows, _ he’s unforgivable. But somehow, hearing his Da—hearing Bruce say that he’ll _ never _ see Jason as _ Jason— _

He swallows the small bite. It’s—it’s better if Bruce doesn’t think of him as the old Jason, because he’s not that boy. He ignores the tears pricking in his eyes.

“The rest of it, Hood.” 

Another small bite, and his stomach lurches again. Is Bruce going to watch him eat the whole thing? He’s not sure he can, without throwing up. And what will Bruce do if he throws it up? He shivers at the thought.

When he swallows again, the food sticks in his throat. Bruce is still there, glaring at him, and Jason takes an even smaller bite. His mouth is so dry, it’s hard to chew.

“You  _ will _ eat. You’re not getting out of this cell with some ridiculous hunger strike.”

_ Hunger strike. _ Is that what Bruce thinks is happening here? Tears prick at his eyes, again, and he blinks rapidly to keep them at bay. He  _ would _ eat, he’s not trying to cause problems, he just— 

His hands are shaking so badly he drops the bar. 

As he picks it up, he says, “I—I’m not—it’s not a  _ hunger strike,  _ I just—” 

But in the face of Bruce’s glare, he stops talking and takes a small step backwards. The cell feels small, for the first time. Exposed. 

“Why am I even here?” He didn’t mean to ask, but now he wants to  _ know. _ If Bruce already knows he’s dangerous, thinks he’s playing a trick, why is he keeping Jason in the Cave? 

“Take another bite.” Bruce’s voice is relentless.

Jason’s voice gets quieter. “When are you sending me away?” He takes another bite, too afraid to do anything else.

“You deserve Arkham, Hood. But you’ve convinced Tim you’re Jason, deserving of mercy, and sending you away would hurt him. He begged me,  _ sobbing, _ to keep you here.”

Bruce sounds like Jason, unable to deny Tim anything after what Jason put him through. 

“When he figures it out you’re not Jason, when you show your hand, I’ll get you into Arkham where you belong.” Bruce’s voice is dark with menace, and Jason takes another step backward. “And if you hurt him again, I’ll make you pay.”

The bar is only half finished, and just looking at it makes him feel sick.

“Finish it.”

Jason’s not sure if he can take another bite without throwing up, let alone swallowing. Bigger bites will be faster. He bites off a large chunk, and his throat convulses. Somehow, he forces it down. He’s not sure if Bruce is saying anything else; he’s focused on not throwing up. What Bruce would do to him if he didn’t eat this, he doesn’t want to know. He’d deserve it, and more. 

He chokes the bar down, one bite at a time, and when he can finally look up, Bruce is gone. He wants, badly, to throw it back up, but the memory of Bruce’s fury makes him keep it down. He glances at the camera, and goes back to his bed. He wants to just be sent away, and to be left alone.

He spends the next few hours curled up under his blanket, shivering. 

\---

The next people at his cell door are Tim and Alfred. Bruce and Dick must be out in Gotham, but Jason hadn’t gotten out from under his blanket. He’d stay under there, if it weren’t for Tim. He won’t deny Tim anything, even if Bruce thinks—

Tim tries to act like he’s fine with Jason, that he trusts the Pit is gone and Jason isn’t going to kidnap and torture him again. But he never gets close to Jason, rarely makes prolonged eye contact, and Jason saw him flinch last night when Jason moved too quickly. 

Jason knows Bruce thinks Jason is running a long con on them all, but he has no idea how to disabuse  _ any  _ of their ideas. He can’t make Bruce believe that, without the Pit, he’s just Jason. He can’t make Tim believe that, even with the Pit gone  _ for now, _ it might come back, and Jason needs to be locked up. He can’t make Alfred realize he’s not the grandson he lost.

As they sit, Jason needs to say _ something _ to convince Tim to send him away. “Tim.” He has to clear his throat. “You need to let Bruce send me to Arkham.”

Tim freezes in the act of grabbing a scone, turning to stare at Jason.

“ _ Please,  _ Tim, it’s not safe. Bruce said—he says he can’t send me away unless you agree.”

Tim’s eyes are wide, and Jason looks away. He remembers the Pit enjoyed Tim’s shocked, wide eyes. 

“J—Jason,” Tim stutters. “We don’t—we know it wasn’t  _ you  _ who—we know the Pit is gone.” Jason can’t even tell if Tim believes his own words.

“It might  _ come back,  _ and I could—I could hurt everyone, even—even kill someone.” Jason wants to sound convincing, passionate, but, even to his own ears, he just sounds exhausted.

Alfred pats Jason’s hand. “Master Jason, I do not believe it is so dire as that. One look at your eyes is enough for this old man, but Bruce has also run extensive testing. There’s almost no Lazarus left in your system.” Alfred, at least, sounds absolutely confident.

“But, Alfred, we don’t _ know _ if the Pit will come back. And if we don’t _ know—”  _ He breaks off, shocked to feel tears rising.

“Do you want to hurt Master Timothy?”

Tim flinches but Jason spits out, “ _ No, _ Alfie, how can you even ask that?”

Alfred raises a brow at him. It used to be enough to cow him, back when scones used to cure all his problems.

“I won’t know until it’s too late,” Jason says lowly, stealing a glance at Tim. 

“You don’t need to worry, Master Jason. Bruce won’t let you out until he’s convinced it’s safe.”

Bruce will never be convinced, and Jason will be here forever. The thought fills him with dread.

Jason reaches out a shaking hand to refill his teacup, but knocks a fork off the table. He bends down to grab it and spots a small packet. It’s an individually wrapped scalpel, the kind Bruce would carry on patrol, and it’s so dusty it must have been down there a while.

Someone must have dropped it without noticing; they’re so small and Bruce usually has more than one in his pouch. Without letting himself think about it, Jason grabs it, quickly tucking it into his boot, concealing it from Tim and Alfred.

He can’t force himself to eat anything, not after Bruce made him eat earlier. He pretends to nibble, pulls apart the scone to hide he’s not eating it, but knows he hasn’t fooled them. No one calls him out on it, though, and Jason does genuinely enjoy the tea.

Back in his room, with a plate of food everyone knows he won’t eat, he waits for the lights to dim. He doesn’t want to do anything obvious, like sit and watch as Bruce and Dick come back in to shower and change. Anything unusual in his behavior will seem suspicious.

Once Bruce and Dick are gone, Jason will be alone in the Cave for at least several hours. When the lights dim, he rolls over and makes sure everyone is gone. And then he waits even longer, taking deep breaths and refusing to talk himself out of it. He’s going to wait until he’s sure Bruce or Dick aren’t coming back for something they forgot, a test they want to run, or to look up something they saw that reminded them of another case.

When he’s sure they’re gone for the rest of the night, he carefully folds up the blanket, smoothing his hand over the bright colors. The red makes him stutter a little, but the yellows and oranges calm and warm him. He breathes in the comforting smell, and tucks it carefully behind the partial partition for the sink and toilet. He doesn’t want it to get ruined; he’s not ruining another bright thing during his last act.

Jason opens the scalpel.

Don’t think about it, just slice up the left wrist. Deep enough to make sure the blood gushes too fast to clot right away, not deep enough that he can’t force himself to hold the scalpel and slice up the other wrist. Breathe through the pain.

A sense of relief washes over him as the scalpel clatters to the floor. He’s—he’s going to be free. He breathes deeply, imagining he already feels light headed from blood loss. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in...before the Pit, really, when he thinks about it. Sometime when he was in the Manor, spending time with his Dad, before things went to shit. Before he ran away, before Talia twisted him up, that’s when he last felt this relaxed and relieved. He’s not safe, exactly, but he’s  _ done. _

He leans his head against the wall, closes his eyes, and hopes Tim isn’t the one to find him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all like this. I'm exceedingly nervous.

Bruce is restless without cause. Tim and Dick are safe in their rooms; Dick doesn’t even have an apartment in Bludhaven anymore. Bruce should probably talk to him about that, now that Hood is safe in their custody, but it’s clear Dick wants to be close to home right now. When Bruce stuck his head into his room half an hour ago, he was in his pajamas, going over footage from the docks from last week. He brushed aside Bruce’s offer of help.

The Drakes aren’t due back for several months, and Bruce’s lawyers are making sure they’ll 

never have a right to Tim again. Tim hasn’t asked about them, and Bruce has been working on a careful conversation about it, hoping to address it once Tim actually starts therapy. Reminded, he pulls out his phone and texts to ask if Tim had picked one of the League therapists.

_ No, just any of the men. Do I have to leave to go see them? Can they come here? _

Bruce sighs. He’d hoped, with Hood off the streets, Tim would feel more comfortable leaving. Trauma doesn’t just disappear, though, he knows that intimately. He’s thankful Tim still finds security in the Manor, even after the two security breaches.

_ I should be able to arrange something. _

Even sending off an email to find out who is willing to travel to the Cave for a session with Robin doesn’t ease his restlessness.

Bruce...Bruce misses Jason. He’s always missed Jason, and having someone with Jason’s face and voice, with his memories...Bruce remembers who Jason was, before, and doesn’t understand how anyone thinks Hood is Jason.

And he won’t let himself consider he might be making a mistake.

Having Hood nearby makes his skin crawl, and maybe that’s why he can’t sleep. Pulling up the feed from the cell will settle his mind, reassure him, and let him sleep. He’ll see that Hood is contained; his family is safe.

When he opens the feed, Hood is sitting, leaning against a wall, unmoving. He’s usually on the bed, and he doesn’t move much, trying to get their sympathy by acting pitiful. Why is he on the floor? 

And then Bruce regrets the quality of the cameras, because he can’t pretend for even a moment that Hood isn’t alarmingly still in a pool of blood. There’s not much light, but the cameras don’t need much to catch a glint of that distinctive shade of red.

He’s up and moving before he realizes it, sprinting down the hallway, throwing out a hand to slam on Dick and Tim’s doorways as he passes. He’s going to need help with medical care.

He knew, he  _ knew  _ Hood was planning something. He just didn’t think it was this.

“B?”

Dick, with his Nightwing voice. They’re all used to responding rapidly to emergencies, but usually Bruce isn’t going so quickly, is able to explain. Usually everyone’s phone goes off with an alarm.

“Hood’s cell,” is all he manages, chest tight with unexpected fear and worry. It’s Hood, not his son, it’s  _ Hood.  _ He doesn’t need to care this much, but he’s panicking all the same.

Begrudging every second it takes to spin the clock hands, Tim and Dick asking frantic questions, he snaps, “Hood is sitting in a pool of blood.” Bruce refuses to say more, refuses to think about what it means.

Flying down the stairs, he jumps off higher than he’s ever dared before, but he has no time to waste. _ What if he’s too late?  _ Dick and Tim are right behind him as he enters the code to Ja—Hood’s cell.

At the sound of the door opening, Hood twitches and a profound sense of relief washes over Bruce. He’s still alive. Bruce drops to his knees beside Ja—Hood and sees that he has, indeed, cut his wrists.

“Prep the medbay,” he snaps without looking back. Tim makes some sort of noise, but they both vanish quickly.

Bruce puts his hand on Hood’s face, more gentle than he means to be, saying, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Hood’s eyes flicker open, and there’s not a trace of green in them. Jason’s blue eyes stare up at him as he whispers, “Dad, please, just  _ leave me.” _

Bruce flinches back for a moment, and then starts running his hands over Jason, checking for other wounds before he moves him to medbay.

“Please.” Jason’s voice is a thin thread. “Just leave me here, and I’ll never bother you again.”

There’s less blood than Bruce thought, so there’s a chance Jason didn’t cut himself very deep. A part of him whispers  _ trick,  _ but, when he looks into his son’s eyes, he can’t believe that.

Ho—Jason picked a time when no one was coming down. If Bruce hadn’t checked on him—well, Bruce did, and that’s all that matters.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay, Jaylad. I’ve got you.” His voice shakes, but he keeps his hands steady. No other injuries he can find.

Tears run down Jason’s face as Bruce lifts him, and he’s horribly limp. 

“I deserve it, Dad, please just let me die,  _ please.  _ Then no one—no one will ever be hurt again.” His voice is weak, and Bruce accelerates toward the medbay.

“You don’t deserve it, and I’m not letting you die, Jason.” It’s a struggle to keep his voice from breaking.

He wants to say more, but Dick and Tim are waiting with medical supplies laid out: plenty of bandages, material for stitching, an IV. Bruce is glad to see one of them prepped IV fluids with dextrose. It will help offset the blood loss coupled with not eating.

He glances down to see Jason has closed his eyes. Passed out or just mentally shutting down, Bruce can’t tell.

Laying Jason gently down, he says, “Dick, stitch up his right wrist. I’ll get the left. I didn’t see any other injuries.” They inject a numbing agent almost in tandem.

Tim’s eyes are huge, and Bruce abruptly remembers he’s only fourteen when he whispers, “How did he— _ why _ did he—” 

No one answers him. 

Jason makes a small, hurt noise and Tim steps forward, cautiously touching Jason’s shoulder. 

“It’s—it’s okay, Jason,” he stutters. “You’re safe.”

“That’s good, Tim,” Bruce says. “Keep him calm.”

Tim slides his fingers into Jason’s hair and starts stroking, soothing him.

Bruce is blaming himself. If only he’d listened to Tim, listened to  _ Alfred,  _ and gotten his son help. Instead, he refused to accept that fact that he might have failed Jason so badly he was driven,  _ forced, _ into a twisted path. His Jason would never done those things, so clearly something was  _ wrong,  _ but Bruce refused to help him, and his continued, violent rejection led his son to— 

Bruce isn’t going to let Jason’s path end here. He’s going to make up for his mistakes. He’s going to welcome his son back home, as he should have done from the beginning.

\---

Jason wakes up slowly, warmth on his left side. He opens his eyes, and sees that he’s in the Manor. He feels disoriented. Is it a school day? When he turns his head, he sees Bruce sitting next to him. Has he been sick? 

Dick is asleep on his other side, radiating heat as always.

He glances back at Bruce, who leans forward and says, “Jason?” He sounds...hoarse. Worried.

Jason goes to push himself up as Bruce lunges forward and says, “Wait, Jason, don’t—”

Too late. A line of fire on his wrist, he falls back on the bed, and he looks down to see a neat line of stitches. Two are popped, and he’s bleeding. Again.

He remembers.

It didn’t work.

The absolute despair that drove him is gone, but his eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, Jason,” Bruce says.

_ Jason, _ Bruce is calling him  _ Jason, _ not Hood. He doesn’t sound angry, either. His voice was gentle, so full of love. Jason looks up at his dad and starts to sob.

“D—Dad, I’m sorry. I— I wasn’t—I was just—”

Bruce leans down and gathers Jason up, like he’s still a child. Jason pushes his face into Bruce’s shoulder, seeking comfort he doesn’t deserve. “I’m—I’m sorry, Dad,  _ please, _ I’m  _ sorry.”  _ Bruce’s arms wrap tightly around him. “Just send me away,  _ please,  _ send me to Arkham.”

“Never,” Bruce whispers into his hair.

Jason lifts his arms to try to cling to Bruce, but his wrists throb and he has to drop them back down. He sobs harder. “I can’t stay here! I don’t—I don’t deserve—I can’t— _ please _ send me away.”

A warm hand runs through his hair and Jason shudders at the unexpected comfort.

“We’re not doing that, little wing.” Dick’s voice is firm but kind, and Jason shudders again.

“It’s not—not a  _ trick, _ I’m really—I’m  _ sorry.” _

He wants to cling to Bruce so they can’t pull him off and throw him back in the cell, but his wrists hurt too much. All he can do is press close. He’s terrified they’re just pretending, just testing him to see what he’ll do if they pretend he’s part of the family again. 

“Don’t—p—please, don’t—” He can’t tell them to stop, because he  _ needs _ this, but he can’t have it be a  _ lie. _ If they—if they are just pretending—if they put him _ back _ and— 

“No, Jason,” Bruce says, voice rumbling through Jason’s bones. “I’m sorry I failed you. I know what the League is like, what the Pit is like, and I couldn’t—” His voice catches. “I couldn’t face how badly I’d let you down. And I nearly lost you.” Bruce’s voice cracks and Jason shakes apart on his lap, Dick’s hand running through his hair.

\---

Tim watches from the shadows in the hallway. It’s a private family moment, and there’s no place for him. It’s what he wanted, after all, what he’d been working for since Jason first took off his helmet in the Tower. He should probably go home, but the thought of leaving the Manor still makes his heart race and stomach flip, and he just—can’t. He can see that Jason’s no threat, but apparently healing isn’t as simple as telling his body there’s no danger.

A hand falls on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Alfred.

“Are you going in?” There’s no judgement or expectation; it’s merely a question.

“I—I shouldn’t,” Tim says, wanting. 

Jason is back in the bed, Dick pressed up against his side, and Bruce is redoing the popped stitches. 

“It’s not my place.”

“You brought this about,” Alfred points out.

It’s not really true. All Tim did was pretend he was good enough to be Robin, provoke Jason’s Pit rage, and get kidnapped and tortured a few times. Alfred believed Hood was truly Jason. Once the Pit vanished, Dick believed it was Jason. Bruce would have gotten there eventually, with or without Tim. Maybe even faster, without Tim there to provoke Hood.

“I should go home,” Tim says lowly, knowing he won’t be able to make himself leave.

“I believe  _ this _ is your home, Master Timothy.”

“Not really.” Drake Manor is his home; empty, cold, and lonely.

“Master Bruce will be surprised to hear that, as will the lawyers with all their paperwork.” Tim looks up in surprise. “You did tell him you were never leaving, and never wanted to go back to your parents’ house again.” And Tim  _ had _ told him that, but didn’t really think…

Alfred hands him the tray. “I think Master Jason’s appetite may finally be back.”

Tim automatically takes it, but says, “No, Alfred, it should be you.”

“You’d be doing me a favor. I have to clean up the Cave for our visitor.”

Visitor? Oh right, Tim’s therapist. “That’s today?”

“Indeed it is, Master Timothy.”

Well, Tim can’t leave if someone is coming here to see him. Bruce went through all that trouble of finding someone who’d come to the Cave to see Robin. Not that Tim can go anywhere near the costume; a domino will have to do. The therapist will have to help him get over his fears, so he can be Robin and useful again, but Bruce seems willing to wait. 

He swallows and looks up at Alfred, who pushes him gently forward. As he steps into the light, everyone turns to look at him.

“I brought...food?” He says hesitantly, holding out the tray.

Bruce and Dick smile, while Jason glances away.

“Tim,” Dick says, smiling. “There’s room on the bed for one more. These beds are  _ enormous.” _ Dick is always ready for cuddling, and he looks so happy to have his brother back.

Jason should make him wary, but he’s pale from blood loss and won’t even look at Tim. If Tim can try to free Jason from his cell by himself, he can sit on the bed with Dick and Bruce right there.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he says, walking into the room. He hesitates on the edge of the bed, waiting for Jason to say something. The silence stretches and Dick nudges Jason.

“It’s your bed, little wing, you going to invite him?” Jason finally looks up, and meets Tim’s eyes.

“If you want,” he rasps. “I can’t eat anyways, with my wrists like this. Can’t hold much.”

“I think Alfred can manage better than that,” Bruce says, leaning forward and taking the lid off the tray to reveal a plate of small sandwiches.

“Okay, yeah, I can probably manage those.” Jason reaches carefully forward, snags one, and takes a bite. “This is doable.” He takes another bite, and they’re all watching. “What?”

“You’re eating,” Bruce says, and Tim is surprised to hear the guilt in his voice.

“You’re so  _ thin, _ little wing.” Dick’s voice is mournful.

Tim says, “Alfred will be glad you like it,” and picks one for himself.

_ epilogue _

Tim has three therapy appointments behind him when he wakes up alone, sweating and shaking. His nightmares haven’t magically gone away, much to his dismay, but they’re not every night, not anymore. He’s thankful for that, because it gives Dick and Bruce more time to focus on Jason. Tim has also started to wake up without screaming, which makes him even less of a bother.

But Tim had flashbacks yesterday, so it’s not surprising to him that the nightmares were more vivid tonight. He flicks on the light, Hood’s voice saying  _ you’ve done this to yourself _ echoing in his ears. He just—he needs to peek in on Jason and make  _ sure _ it’s not Hood. Tim needs to make sure he’s safe.

It’s been a month since Jason tried to kill himself, and the Manor feels lighter with him home. Without the constant need to be hunting Hood, without Jason in a cell and the household divided, everyone has relaxed. Alfred is thrilled beyond measure; Tim has never seen him so cheerful. Dick spends all his time with Jason or Tim, and has never seemed happier. Bruce doesn’t show his happiness so obviously, but he’s somehow softened. And he’s less violent with the criminals, which makes Tim breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

The first week, they were careful to never leave Jason alone, but Tim wasn’t put on the rotation. After a couple days, when he realized what was happening, he offered. Bruce looked at him for a long moment.

“I’m not sure you should be alone with Jason, Tim.” He spoke slowly, choosing each word with care, but Tim still bristled.

“I was the one who thought Jason was Jason  _ first!  _ I don’t think he’s Hood, so why shouldn’t I help?” He was surprised at how angry he felt, being pushed out of the family already. Alfred had said—but there Bruce was, not including him.

Bruce’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Tim, sweetheart, you were tortured.”

Tim sucked in a breath. No one had—no one had  _ said _ that to him. He—he can’t, he wasn’t—but— 

“It wasn’t really Jason, we all know that, and you were the first to realize that. I can’t thank you enough for everything you did for him.” 

It wasn’t enough, though, if Jason tried to kill himself. Tim knew that without Bruce saying it. He could have done better.

“But Jason having a different eye color doesn’t mean you won’t look at him and remember how it felt when he was hurting you.”

Tim swallowed, still reeling from Bruce saying  _ tortured _ . He wanted to tell Bruce he was wrong, that Tim  _ could _ look at him and see Jason, not Hood. But as he took a deep breath, he noticed his hands were shaking. 

His therapist encouraged him in that first appointment to pay attention to what his body was telling him. Tim wouldn’t say anything about what happened to him, at all, and was surprised when it wasn’t a problem. They talked about long-term reactions to trauma, in very general terms, and Tim had still been thinking about it, two days later.

So, although he wanted to ignore his shaking hands and push through it, he heard his therapist saying that true healing doesn’t come from ignoring what happened. If he ever wanted to be Robin again, and Tim desperately did, he needed to accept his feelings and work  _ with _ them, not through or around them.

So he blew his breath back out, and stopped for a moment.  _ Did  _ he want to be alone with Jason?

No. No, not really. He knew it was Jason, he  _ knew _ it, but what his mind knew and his body believed were two very different things.

He stared at the floor, ashamed. He should—he should have been better than this. He shouldn’t be punishing Jason for what he did while under the influence of the Pit. When he felt a tear slide down his face, he was mortified. He wanted to tell Bruce that of course he could sit with Jason, he’s  _ Jason, _ not Hood, but his throat was too tight.

It had been easier when he had a purpose. He didn’t have time to think and feel when all his thoughts were turned towards getting Jason free and convincing Bruce. As soon as Jason was safe, back in the family, everything was just—all at once, it came down on him.

The Manor may feel lighter, but Tim just felt weighed down.

Jason had tried to kill himself, though, and Tim had a therapist, he didn’t want to take Bruce or Dick from Jason by—by whining about how bad everything had gotten for him.

Enough time passed that Bruce knelt down and put a hand under his chin. Tim resisted for a moment, and Bruce asked, “Tim, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

No, no Tim was not okay. Wordlessly, he lifted his tear streaked face to look at Bruce. Bruce’s face softened, and he wrapped his arms around Tim and hugged him tightly.

“You’ve been through something awful,” Bruce said into his hair. “You’re going to get better, but you have to give yourself time.”

So Tim did. He visited Jason, because someone else was always there, but Jason was quieter around Tim. Now it wasn’t just Tim who couldn’t look at Jason; Jason couldn’t look at him.

After a week, the constant watch was lessened, but Jason was never alone for long. Sometimes, when Dick was holding Tim after a nightmare, they’d hear Bruce check on Jason. Just in case.

Sitting in his bed, still shaking from the nightmare, Tim hesitates. He could go see Dick, or crawl in Bruce’s bed, but— _ you’ve done this to yourself  _ echoes and echoes, and Tim has to check for himself. He’s managed not to be alone with Jason, and doesn’t plan to change that. Just a quick check, see Jason is in the Manor, so Hood isn’t about to—Tim shudders, and slides out of bed. Just a quick peek.

But when he cracks the door, Jason’s already awake and reading, his striped blanket spread over his bed. Jason looks up as the door opens, and Tim squeaks and ducks back.

“Tim?” Jason sounds hesitant. “It’s okay, I was already awake.”

Tim slowly sticks his head back in. “I didn’t mean to—to disturb you.”

“You’re not bothering me.” Jason’s voice is quiet as he sets the book aside, but he doesn’t look at Tim for long. Tim doesn’t like this. It’s bothered him since they brought Jason up into the Manor, and he suddenly wants to fix it.

“Why don’t you look at me?” He blurts out, and then flushes.

Jason looks right at him, surprised. “I—I do look at you.” But he glances down right after he says it.

Tim moves into the room, shutting the door and perching on the chair next to the bed. He’s not afraid, somehow, not when he sees how uncomfortable Jason is. His desire to help is giving him something to focus on and makes his own concerns melt away.

“Jason...it wasn’t you.” Jason still won’t look and Tim leans forward, repeating, “It wasn’t you.” He hears Jason’s voice echoing, telling Tim the same thing down in the Cave. “The person who attacked me wasn’t  _ you.” _

Jason twists up his comforter, still not looking at Tim. “I still remember doing it, though. I remember...all of it.”

Tim flinches back, unwanted memories rising up, and Jason makes a motion as if to say,  _ see? _

“I understand why it happened,” Tim manages to say.

Jason looks up at him, suspicious. “You  _ understand? _ You understand, what? That I tortured you because I  _ enjoyed  _ it? That I  _ planned  _ it out, every last little step, and it was  _ fun?”  _ His voice is rising, tinged with hysteria. “Or maybe you  _ understand  _ that I was going to  _ kill _ you? It wasn’t going to be pretty, Tim! And it’s all fine now, because you  _ understand?” _

Swallowing hard, Tim leans forward. Jason is opening his mouth, Tim doesn’t know what he’ll say next, but Tim snaps out, “It’s  _ not _ fine,” surprising himself with his vehemence.

Jason closes his mouth abruptly, but doesn’t look away.

“It’s  _ not _ fine, but—” Tim is horrified to feel tears stinging his eyes. “It’s not fine, but it wasn’t  _ you.  _ We don’t blame anyone for what they do under Ivy’s pollen or Hatter’s mind control. We both—we both have to  _ remember _ it, but it was the Pit. What you did wasn’t fine, but I  _ understand  _ it because it wasn’t you.”

Looking down, Jason whispers, “It feels like it was me.”

Tim...isn’t qualified for this. Bruce needs to find Jason a therapist, yesterday. 

The idea grows on him. “You should see a therapist.” 

Jason scoffs. “Yeah, that’s gonna help.”

Tim remembers feeling like that. “Well, it’s helping me.” Jason snaps his head up. “And it’s helped Bruce.” Jason’s eyes widen, and he’s not looking away from Tim for once. “There are even League-approved therapists, so you don’t have to pretend. It’s not...it’s not what you might think.”

“Bruce went to therapy?” Jason’s voice shakes a little.

Tim nods. “You should ask him about it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Jason’s hands are resting loosely on the comforter now, his scars starkly red against the rest of his skin.

“Jason…” Tim reaches out a hand as if to trace his scars. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Jason asks, roughly. “I left way worse on you.”

Tim touches his throat, before forcing his hand to drop. “I’m sorry I didn’t get Bruce to believe the Pit was gone sooner. Before…” he trails off. Somehow, saying  _ before you tried to kill yourself _ is even harder than saying  _ I was tortured _ to his therapist.

“You couldn’t have changed Bruce’s mind. He thought I was pretending, to trick you and hurt you again. You can’t stop him once he’s that protective.” Despite everything, Jason sounds almost...fond.

And he might even be right. Tim makes a note to talk to his therapist about it. It hadn’t occurred to him there was nothing he could have done to convince Bruce, and the thought shakes him a little. It’s a good thing his therapist comes every week, because Tim’s mental file is always absurdly long.

“Bruce was really worried,” Tim agrees.

A silence grows, but it’s companionable now.

“My therapist comes to the Cave,” Tim suddenly offers. “If you don’t—if you wanted that. They have special offices, with extra security, but…”

Jason cocks his head and Tim toys with the drawstring for his pajamas.

“I don’t like to leave the Manor.” 

He likes to be close to Bruce and Dick. He likes feeling safe in the Manor, especially with Hood gone, especially since Jason showed Bruce how he snuck in. Even if the ninja came back, and apparently Talia told Bruce they were some kind of mistake, they wouldn’t be able to get in.

Jason’s face grows sad, as he probably realizes why Tim won’t leave, but he doesn’t say anything. He offers up a hand, stretching it toward Tim, and Tim is surprised to find himself taking it. It’s warm.

He expects to be afraid, to have a flashback, because he’s  _ touching _ Jason, but it’s nothing like Hood. Tim was always so terrified with Hood, but he’s just...not. Not with Jason.

Tomorrow it might be different. Tim has learned that much about recovery. One peaceful moment won’t overwrite all the horrific memories, but it’s a start.

When the door opens, they startle apart.

\---

Tim is protesting, “I really don’t need to be carried,” as Dick carts him off to bed, but even Jason can tell his heart isn’t in it.

Bruce smiles fondly at them and then turns to Jason. “Are you okay?” 

Shame, guilt, and an ever-present sense the Pit was about to come back kept Jason from being comfortable with being alone with Tim. He’d actually been actively working to stay away from him. 

Of course, Bruce noticed. It was so nice and so irritating, last time he lived here, that Bruce noticed  _ everything. _

“It was fine,” Jason says, surprising himself by meaning it. “It was—it was fine.” 

“I’m glad,” Bruce says, and Jason knows he truly means it. Bruce  _ wants _ Jason to feel comfortable, he  _ wants _ Jason to feel at home in the Manor. Every time Jason thinks about Bruce truly wanting him here, he feels like smiling.

He’d thought he’d never have a place here, a home, ever again. But when it’s hard to believe, Bruce and Dick are always there to remind him.

“Tim says you went to therapy,” Jason says without thinking, and then flushes in embarrassment. 

Bruce looks surprised for a moment, and then says, “Yes, I did. More than once. As do many heroes.” A pause, before he carefully asks, “Was something you were interested in?”

Jason—Jason is interested, very much so, but all he does is nod. 

Tentatively, Bruce says, “I have a list of names you can—”

“You pick one.” Jason wouldn’t know the first thing about picking out a therapist. “Tim says his comes here, but I can go wherever.”

“Whatever you prefer.” 

Bruce is sitting on the edge of the bed and Jason scoots over, so Bruce settles in next to him.  __ He’s grateful Bruce and Dick had enough faith in him to not burst into his room, expecting the worst, when Tim’s bed was empty. Jason wouldn’t have blamed them, but it warmed parts of him he hadn’t realized were still cold when there were no accusations.

He basks in the warmth for a moment before asking, “Tim won’t leave the Manor?”

“No,” Bruce says frankly. “And he wears a panic button constantly.” 

Jason takes a moment to process that. He feels small, and his voice is barely audible when he asks, “Is he...is he going to get better?” 

When Bruce doesn’t answer him right away, doesn’t rush to reassure him, Jason’s stomach drops. That means—that means— 

“Recovery is a process,” Bruce says carefully, and Jason’s eyes sting. “And it looks different for everyone.”

Jason realizes he’s curling away when Bruce wraps an arm around him, and pulls him in close.

“I—I did that—” Jason stammers, and Bruce cuts him off.

“No, you did not do that. If we are looking for anyone to blame, we could perhaps blame Talia and Ra’s, or even the Joker.” Jason doesn’t flinch at Joker’s name anymore, but it’s a near thing. “You were under the influence of Pit, and you were not yourself. It’s  _ not  _ your fault.” 

“But—but—” Jason finds he’s crying.

“Jaylad,  _ no,” _ Bruce says, somehow pulling him even closer. “It doesn’t mean he won’t recover. Life leaves marks on all of us. You, me, Tim, Dick, even Alfred. We wouldn’t be who we are without those experiences. Tim has...some extra hurdles, to overcome.” 

Jason thinks that’s a fucking understatement, but he can’t stop crying long enough to say it. He’s never done so much crying in his life as he’s done in the past month. 

When the tears dry up, he rests against Bruce. “It’s not fair, Dad,” he says into Bruce’s chest. “It’s not—Tim doesn’t deserve it.”

“Neither do you,” Bruce points out. “But your recovery will be a process, as well, with hurdles of your own to overcome.”

Jason flinches as his memory surges, but he’s getting good at pushing the memories away. He suddenly wants to yell that he’s fine, he has nothing to overcome, but his gaze drops to the red scars on his wrists and the words dry up.

If Bruce lied to him, he’d know. Before he even asked, he knew there was no “getting over” any of this, for either of them. He’d wanted—maybe a pretty lie, a reassuring sentiment about hope overcoming everything, to believe for a moment that if Tim was going to magically get better, Jason would too.

But Jason’s never been naive, and he’s not going to start now. Recovery is a process. He can work with that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's an ending that's a beginning, my favorite kind.
> 
> I have a couple small follow-ups coming, but this is the bulk of their story.


End file.
